


Bitter Sweet Symphony

by Tomatosoupful



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But still trying to write him deep Ernesto, Creepy Ernesto, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Going for a story that gets darker and darker with each chapter, Héctor deserves better, Héctor goes from servant to slave pretty damn quickly, Possessive Ernesto, Puts up with a lot of shit, Super villain Ernesto, but we already knew that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomatosoupful/pseuds/Tomatosoupful
Summary: What if Héctor managed to confront Ernesto decades before the movie? When given the chance, Ernesto wants more than just the songs.He wants ALL of Héctor.[Attempting a dark story. Héctor is locked in a horrible position working for Ernesto who is good at being creepy and possessive]





	1. Shit Happens

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me just dropping this story here.

~1975~

It had come to this.

Héctor buried his face in his straw hat. He had _never_ wanted to stoop this low but what choice did he have now?

Directly above was an opened window to a house. A humble two-story home that glowed orange. Inside, Héctor could hear the occupants excitedly discussing the recent employment of a grandson to the great Ernesto de la Cruz. Not only was the young Emilio to serve celebrities at extravagant parties but he would also get to live in the grand mansion atop the tall white tower. If he was on his best behaviour, the job would be the best opportunity one could hope for in the Land of the Dead.

Which was why Héctor was coming with him.

Not that Emilio knew that.

He overheard the click of a suitcase being closed. Followed by Emilio’s parents leading him out of the room for a final dinner with the family in a while. Héctor double-checked that the alleyway was as empty as the room above before climbing. He balanced on three garbage bins lined up like a stairway, then leapt and grabbed the window sill. He scrambled inside, cringing when his bones clattered louder than expected.

Nothing.

Hardly relaxing in the face of potential discovery, Héctor carefully opened the suitcase. It was filled with clothing and toiletries and soon, Héctor himself. Being as nearly forgotten as he was, Héctor’s bones easily disconnected from each other. One by one, he collapsed into a bundle of bones in the suitcase. He was enveloped in darkness once he managed to close it. And in that darkness, he remained.

Why, oh why, was he in this position?

That’s right, because he had _nothing_ left.

Imelda…

His wife had only passed away a year ago and instead of a joyous tearful reunion, rejected tears fell instead when she turned him away. Not without throwing a few colourful insults. Feeling like shattered glass crudely put back together with tape, Héctor returned to Shantytown. The silence of the residents in shared sympathy felt worse than any of their possible questions. They all knew what he was going through.

He couldn’t touch his dinky guitar. Not again. Not after that.

And when he couldn’t play, he couldn’t busk. And when he couldn’t busk, he barely collected enough coins through begging to support himself. No one was willing to hire the Nearly-Forgotten, so exploiting one’s talents for coins was the only way to buy the supplies needed to keep shacks remaining upright and prevent the town from drowning in the Land of the Dead’s waters. No one in Shantytown said it, but Héctor’s inability to play only added another problem to their long list.

And Héctor had enough.

He was sick and tired of being a burden to his family in Shantytown. They deserved better.

A small part of him Héctor knew Imelda would label selfish believed that he deserved better too.

Emilio must have tripped in his eagerness for the suitcase was jostled.

The young man (who physically was a good decade older than Héctor, but technically younger) had the tendency to lose himself in his excitement. From stumbling over his feet to loudly proclaiming whatever was making his day this time. That was how Héctor had discovered him. Crowds at bars were notoriously loud when influenced by alcohol but Emilio was louder. Hearing him a table away gush over his acceptance into de la Cruz’s staff sparked an idea.

So, here he was now. On his way to Ernesto.

There was a long overdue discussion to be had.

Finally, Emilio arrived at the tower. There was a shuffling of papers as he pulled them out of his coats pocket. Once approved, Emilio raced onto the funicular. Inside the suitcase, Héctor calmed himself down after fearing the papers were in with him. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sounds outside. The chatter inside the funicular was casual but upon reaching the top and the doors opening, Héctor could barely hear himself think. There was raucous laughter, animated conversations, glasses clinking against bones as they were served, and what sounded like fire? A magician performance, perhaps?

Whatever the case, it did not matter.

He was here. He was _here_!

Emilio was picked up by a security guard and brought to a door hidden out of sight. As soon as the door was closed, the party’s sounds dulled. Emilio talked a thousand words a minute as he was led to his quarters. Once there, he was told to leave his suitcase here and was directed to the wardrobe where his uniform was. He would begin work tonight. The guard left to wait outside, and Emilio tossed his suitcase on the bed and threw on his uniform. He left and chased after the guard.

Once the silence in the room had settled, the suitcase clicked as it was opened. Héctor’s bones tumbled out and reconnected. He stretched his phantom joints and readjusted the straw hat sitting on his head.

Successfully infiltrating Ernesto’s mansion fully dawned on him. His hand hovered over the breast pocket carrying his grinning photo, seeking comfort in it as he organised his thoughts.

He truthfully didn’t think he’d get this far.

But now that he was here…

He thought of the uniform Emilio now wore and marked down the first step to his new plan. He checked the room’s wardrobe and was pleased to see Emilio’s spare uniforms inside. It wouldn’t be a perfect fit, Héctor’s ankle bones would definitely show, but it would do for now. He transferred his photo to the uniform pocket but stared at the hat in his hands. Hiding it in Emilio’s room was not an appealing thought. He couldn’t bear to lose it. It was one of the few remaining things that belonged to him. It was a gift from the Shantytown residents when he first moved in.

But it wasn’t part of the uniform.

Slouching in defeat, Héctor tucked the hat underneath Emilio’s bed, promising to return and collect it once his chat with Ernesto was over. 

~o0o~

Ernesto’s mansion was simultaneously too big in its unnecessary flaunting of wealth, and not big enough to contain the man’s enormous ego.

Most of the party was outside in the massive garden. Tents and furniture pieces were set up to host the hundreds of skeletons squished into the space. Once emerging from the servant’s quarters that was inconveniently separated from the main building, Héctor dived into the ocean of guests, hoping that he could find Ernesto quickly.

Then he started to take in the luxurious lifestyle on display. Héctor stared at the tables serving mountains of food. The plates sat on gleaming material. Was it made from threads of gold? Either they were, which had Héctor imagine that one bolt of the fabric could rebuild the entirety of Shantytown, _or_ Ernesto liked to pretend he was famous enough to warrant such frivolous decorations. And maybe he was but …

Narrowly, he dodged a couple of skeletons that fell to the ground in a drunken stupor. Their bones scattered on impact but they and everyone else around them burst out laughing. Keeping up the image of a staff member, Héctor helped the skeletons rearrange themselves. One of them patted him on the shoulder and asked for a cocktail.

Feeling awkward, Héctor said he would, then shuffled away wondering how in the world was someone meant to grab a drink and then find the celebrity again in this huge crowd? It was no exaggeration; the crowd was unlike anything Héctor had ever experienced in life and death. He had never had to keep his arms so tightly close to his body in order to avoid elbowing others and even that didn’t prevent the occasional guest from bumping into him.

After the fifth time it started to get on his nerves.

This _really_ wasn’t how he thought this night would go.

“ _Damas y caballeros_!”

Lights dimmed, and the guests turned to their right. Héctor followed their direction to see the mansion’s entrance stairway. A skeleton that looked like a galaxy of stars in her sparkly silver dress, numerous jewellery pieces and glittery paint circling her eye sockets stood with a microphone. She waved to the crowd as they continued cheering, all but Héctor aware of what was coming next.

“ _Gracias. Gracias_ ,” the woman said with a red painted smile. “Please welcome our final performance for tonight! I’m sure you all _remember_ him?”

 _Oh no_ , was all Héctor could think as the guests around him went wild.

Spotlights shone onto a balcony above the announcer. Two security guards opened the double doors and out strutted Ernesto de la Cruz. He rewarded his roaring fans a winning grin. He was decked out in his pearl white suit and fancy boots, and stylised hair with – Héctor bulked – was that grey hair? He absentmindedly touched his own youthful black hair as he recalled the days when they were young boys in Santa Cecelia. High on boyish mischief and sweltering under summer’s unforgiving sun, they had stolen a pocketknife to cut their hot sticky hair, away from the watchful eyes of their guardians. Though their ridiculous hair should have been punishment enough their guardians had given them a few hard whacks to ensure the lesson was hammered in.

Héctor fell out of his memory at the strum of a guitar.

Ernesto held a white guitar in his arms but to Héctor’s immense relief, it wasn’t his. It wasn’t the skull guitar Imelda had gifted to him so many years ago. It was fashioned like an old guitar but sporting snazzy technology. Isolated from all the technology dying in the Land of the Living and making its way into the afterlife, Héctor hardly had the personal funds to be familiar with it. He didn’t want to consider it too big of a loss though. The technology was making Ernesto’s _grito_ far louder than it needed to be through the speakers, and he supposed that was one of the negative side effects folks from his generation always complained about.

 “ _Remember Me_

 _Though I have to say goodbye._ ”

Oh no. No. No. No. _No_!

He was _not_ putting up with this.

Héctor seethed at his daughter’s butchered song. He overheard a female skeleton sigh over how romantic it was, and he shuddered. Sure, if fake overly corny ballads were one’s cup of tea, maybe it could be called romantic.

“ _Remember Me_

 _Don’t let it make you cry_.”

Everyone was singing along, and it felt like a bruise being repeatedly hit. Héctor murmured apologies as he retreated back, searching for something to distract him. His plan of finding Ernesto amongst his fans had flown out the window without so much as a goodbye. In his failure, Héctor managed to find one of the many bars available and ordered a drink.

“What do you want?”

“Your strongest.”

A skeleton sitting on a stool beside Héctor whooped loudly, splashing his drink everywhere. The bartender barked at him to bugger off if he was going to make a mess. A few curse words later and the skeleton had disappeared in the crowd to sing the song. The bartender rolled his eyes and served Héctor his drink. It stung as he swallowed but it was preferable to Ernesto’s performance.

“Long night?” the bartender asked, wiping a beer glass.

Héctor exhaled heavily. “No, actually. It’s only just begun.”

The bartender shook his head in sympathy.

Finally, the song ended and Héctor had to cover where his ears use to be to block out the cheers.

Ernesto thanked his audience as skeleton hands were disconnected from wrists and thrown onto the stairway and balcony in replacement for flowers. Eventually, Ernesto returned to his mansion and the double doors were shut. The hands were magnetised back to their owners and the party resumed its usual pace.

Although the performance had been trying, it had also left Héctor feeling invigorated. He stormed through the crowd, making his way to the mansion’s entrance.

He had seen the glory Ernesto had wrapped himself up in through _his_ songs. He had heard the praise, the adoration and the love for decades ever since the first song was released. It had always frustrated him. He would be lying to himself if he pretended it didn’t matter.

He poured his very soul, his memories and love into those songs. They were an extension of himself and Ernesto had stolen them, pretending they were his. They were important. Always had been, but now more than ever. If Héctor’s name had been credited to even _one_ of those famous songs, someone out there in the Living world would have his photo up, would let him cross the bridge, would let him see his family. Yet here he was, slowly being forgotten, with only one person left in the Living world to remember him.

It hurt but it was only natural he had stooped as low as he had to make it to Ernesto’s. What choice did he have?

Héctor entered the mansion and into a grand hall. Confetti rained from the ceiling and occasionally landed in chatty mouths. A stage set up at the far end of the room hosted a _mariachi_ band playing a catchy tune. Not one of his, thank goodness. What _was_ his was the shape the indoor pool took. His skull guitar. Wonderful. Héctor stood on tip-toe, pleased with the advantage his height gave him, as he searched for Ernesto.

There!

Ernesto had a dozen guests listening to his every word as he told them a story. They were like fish waiting for bread crumbs. He gave one man a wink, then brushed his knuckles up against a woman’s cheekbones. Her markings glowed with joy, then mild embarrassment when her friends chuckled. Each of them was so enraptured with Ernesto’s company that it made Héctor faulter.

How was he supposed to approach him?

What would Ernesto even do if his old childhood friend suddenly dropped in? It brought some amusement to imagine the look of shock and horror on his face, but it was how Ernesto might react afterwards that was concerning.

Héctor counted the security guards stationed around the stuffed hall. No doubt they would be involved. After some thought, Héctor decided to approach Ernesto later. Once the party had calmed and Ernesto had split away from the crowd, Héctor would make his presence known.

And then they could get talking.

~o0o~

It was easy enough to sneak away from the party into the innards of the mansion. An empty platter was shoved into Héctor’s arms and he was ordered to return it to the kitchen. He followed another unsuspecting staff member up a flight of stairs and to a door situated behind red curtains. Inside, the hallways to the kitchen still looked fashionable enough to make Héctor feel self-conscious.

He felt bad for doing so but he left the platter on the floor by the entrance to the kitchen. He could hear food cooking and chefs yelling at each other. The last thing he needed was someone scrutinising him for too long and realising he didn’t belong here. So, Héctor left the plate and searched for a place to hide himself.

He ventured upon a hall slightly smaller than its entrance counterpart. It was empty of occupants but contained bundles of food and guitars and letters. After reading a few of the fan letters, Héctor realised that the items on display were Ernesto’s offerings from _Día de los Muertos_. That was half a year ago! Héctor swiped a piece of bread for himself. It’s not as though Ernesto was going to notice.

As Héctor bit into his snack and wondered how long the party was supposed to go on anyway, a boom went off outside. He approached the tall windows and watched dozens of colourful fireworks paint the night sky. He remembered fondly a moment of his childhood when he and Ernesto admired the fireworks. It was one of the few times Héctor saw an enthusiasm in Ernesto’s eyes for something other than music.

A door shut.

“And who are you?”

The bread fell from Héctor’s stiffened hands and he turned sharply.

Across the hall was Ernesto.

It felt like his bones were made of concrete. All Héctor managed to say was a weak remark. “That was – uh – quick.”

Ernesto slowly eased closer wearing an intrigued frown.

Héctor suspected his voice must have sounded familiar. It was the push he needed to address the reason behind his break-in. “Ernesto, I need to talk to you.”

Saying his name lifted the mist of mystery. Ernesto’s eyes – eyes that reflected the fireworks outside like they used to as boys – widened and he whispered with disbelief, “Hé -Héctor?”

Suddenly too aware of his yellowed decaying bones, Héctor nodded.

Ernesto exhaled deeply and brushed back his hair, all familiar mannerisms to Héctor. Clearly, the famous musician had not expected his night to turn out this way. At least there was one thing the two had in common now. There was a strange silence as Ernesto carefully chose his next sentence, never one to jump into a situation unprepared. “What are you doing here?”

On one hand, the question seemed fair since Ernesto had been dead for a while without a glimpse of his former friend. On the _other_ hand, Ernesto hadn’t exactly been easy to contact and the naivety behind the question only revealed the extent of his ignorance. Héctor forced down his anxiety and played up his confidence conman act, like he knew what he was doing. “Come _on_ Ernesto. Why do you think?” he said with exaggeration, picking up the bread from the ground. “Don’t you think I should have some of your offerings? Whoever baked this must have spent hours perfecting it.”

It struck a nerve. “ _No_ ,” Ernesto muttered, displeased that even something as small as a bread was in Héctor’s hands.

“Really?” Héctor said sceptically, crossing his arms. “You look like you could use a little help. There’s so much food to eat, so many letters to read, so many guitars untouched –”

“– I said no! They’re mine!” Ernesto snapped. The air between them lowered in temperature dramatically. “I earned all of this through _my_ _hard work_.”

“And _my_ songs.”

The two glared at each other.

Ernesto straightened his suit and stated dismissively, “They’re not yours anymore –”

“– that’s not true and you know it!”

“Ask anyone in the Land of the Dead and they’ll tell you those songs are mine!” Ernesto shot back, the defensiveness in his tone sending alarm bells off in Héctor’s head.

He ignored them, too caught up in the memory of Imelda’s rejection, the social isolation as a Nearly-Forgotten, the miserable poverty he lived in, and the _years_ of separation between his wife and daughter, because of one man. One man that took advantage of a moment of selfishness Héctor so stupidly indulged in, a moment of selfishness he would always regret.

He pointed to the window behind him where the crowd below awed at the fireworks. “So? They only think they’re your songs because you never credited me!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“ _What_?”

“You walked away from our dream! You abandoned everything we had strived for since we were boys, and for what?”

“My family!” Héctor stressed, as though it was obvious. “Imelda and Coco were – _are_ – far more important than _your_ dream. This was _your_ dream, remember? I just wanted to write songs.”

Ernesto did not answer. His glower deepened, and his fists shook with barely contained rage. Years conflicting with the bridge’s security had taught Héctor the warning signs of someone close to their limit, and that was when he would make a run for it. Glancing around the hall, Héctor took note of the exits but still held his ground. He wasn’t done here.

“It was _our_ dream,” Ernesto finally said, his voice low and quiet like an approaching predator. “We promised each other. You betrayed that promise the moment you walked away. Those songs are mine and only mine. You don’t deserve them.”

“They’re my songs…” Héctor insisted uselessly.

Ernesto rolled his eyes. “Say it however many times you want. It changes nothing. They’re mine, and I don’t owe you anything.”

Two fireworks burst in sync. Red and green light filtered into the room and showered the two skeletons in intense colours. As it faded, the truth that Ernesto would never see reason and made a point to keep the credit and fame to himself, finally sunk in. Héctor was dumb-struck but struggling through the hurt more than anything.

His name being left out. It hadn’t been an accident like he hoped.  

Running out of ideas, Héctor scrambled to gain some ground. “I…I’ll tell. I’ll tell everyone.”

“Oh, how brave of you!” Ernesto cut in. “Tell me, why haven’t you already?” He wore an amused smile as he waited for the answer he knew he would receive: silence. “Just as I thought. You’ve already tried, and no one believed you. And why would they?”

Why would they indeed. Repeatedly, Héctor had been sent away by the disdain of those who had bothered to listen and harassed with laughter by anyone who happened to overhear. Memory truly was the most important part of the Land of the Dead. How could a Nearly-Forgotten have the skills and talent to produce such beloved songs? How does a nobody fit into the great Ernesto de la Cruz’s story enough to know the man in childhood, let alone write the famous songs?

Despite the hall’s size, it suddenly felt like the walls were drawing closer. Héctor had no clue what to say next, what to do next! He never thought he’d get this far! His plans never work. So why now? Why now when he had nothing else up his sleeves but desperation? He knew he was an idiot but to still place enough trust in Ernesto to change his ways after years of neglect, was one of the stupidest things he’d ever done!

Ernesto’s smile grew with satisfaction. He knew he’d won. He too remembered his old friend’s mannerisms and recognised the signs of panic overwhelming him. Ernesto stood straighter and said with the kind of forced charm that made spines shiver, “Héctor … you shouldn’t have come here. I don’t need a ghost of my past stirring up unnecessary rumours.”

Héctor’s eyes widened but before he could speak, Ernesto barked, “Security!”

“What?! Ernesto – ?!”

Every exit door was slammed open with a loud bang and burly skeletons dressed in black suits rushed in. And though Héctor was slippery, he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the hands that gripped his arms and held him tight. Together, fear and panic tried to stir up enough adrenaline to escape but it quickly became apparent Héctor was outmuscled and outnumbered. “Let go!” he yelled, attempting to kick his way out. It only resulted in his ankles being restrained. “Let go of me!”

Off to the side, Ernesto smoothed non-existent wrinkles out of his suit with an unreadable expression on his skull. Seemingly pretending the commotion wasn’t there.

“Ernesto!”

Flinching at his name, Ernesto sneered at Héctor, finding his very presence offensive. “Take him away,” he ordered. “You know where. He can stay there until he’s forgotten.”

“No! No, no, no, no! Ernesto!” Héctor pleaded, thinking of his little girl.

An arm wrapped around and covered his mouth, muffling his cries. But Héctor didn’t stop his screaming, didn’t stop trying to claw his way out of the guards’ hold.

When he did finally stop, it was only because he was tossed away, out of sight and out of mind, into a sinkhole.  

~o0o~

Héctor had lost count how many water droplets had fallen.

Ever since he had landed in the cenote, water dripping from the hanging stalactites had served as his ticking clock. The sinkholes’ walls were completely vertical and too wet to climb out. After Héctor had exhausted himself trying and failing to escape, the only energy he had left went to counting the droplets until he fell asleep. Sunlight seeping through the cenote’s hole had woken him up and revived his efforts to escape.

Plan after plan.

Attempt after attempt.

Failure after failure.

This was all starting to feel very familiar.

And Héctor miserably wondered if he would ever succeed at anything.

No one was around outside to hear his cries for help and no one was around to hear his panicked ramblings as it became more and more apparent, with every day that passed, that he was stuck until it was all over. Until he was forgotten.

No.

 _No_.

NO.

Héctor tried stacking the stones to build a stairway. It tumbled. He tried to sharpen rocks, so he could stab them into the walls and climb up. He fell. He swam to the bottom of the rockpool to find something, _anything_ , that could help him. More rocks. He was sick of rocks –

– where was his straw hat? Emilio had probably discovered it by now. It was probably tossed away like he was. Imagining the hat flattened and forgotten in a garbage dump hurt more than when a large rock lost its footing and landed on his leg bone, nearly cracking it –

– his photo was still intact. But how long was that going to last? Héctor knew he shouldn’t but sometimes he found himself staring at his skeletal reflection in the water and comparing it to his photograph. What would he give to return to those days –

– his family at Shantytown must be worried about him. He hoped. Maybe. They might actually be thankful they didn’t have worry about supporting him anymore. Especially since he lost the hat they gifted him –

– he missed just _talking_ to someone. If anyone asked him later, _no_ he did not place rocks on top of each other to make a skeleton looking figure. _No_ , he did not tell it everything and anything. And _no_ , he did not finally snap and toss rocks at it until it collapsed in a heap –

– he was so sick of rocks –

– how many days had it been? This. Is. _Agonising_ –

– what was Imelda doing? What was Ernesto doing? What was _Coco_ doing? It brought him to tears knowing none of them were thinking of him –

Coco.

 _Coco_.

He _had_ to cross that bridge!

Wait.

When was _Día de los Muertos_ again?

What if he missed it? He can’t miss it! He had to see Coco.

It had been a while since he last thought yelling at the cenote’s entrance did anything but this time, all he could think of was the marigold bridge disappearing before he even had the chance to try crossing it.

“Ernesto, please! Please! Listen to me! _Please!_ ”

Eventually turned into…

“Ernesto! I’ll do anything! Just let me out! I need to cross the bridge! I’ll do _anything_! Please!”

He lost count of the water droplets again.

No one answered him.

Until they did.

Héctor didn’t want to give in to his relief when he spotted the security guards looking into the cenote. What if they were just here to restate Héctor’s imprisonment? What if they were only delivering a message from Ernesto to shut up already? What if they weren’t even there and it was just Héctor’s mind giving up? He figured it would happen eventually…

…even when he was fished out and led towards Ernesto’s glittering mansion, he didn’t let relief settle in. He was instead lost in his thoughts, wondering what Ernesto was going to do.

~o0o~

Héctor melted into the chair.

The fireplace was alight and casting shadows across the glamorous bedroom. The fire’s warmth felt like tucking into a comfortable bed. Héctor almost fell asleep right there, when the bedroom’s door opened, and footsteps thumped against the wooden floor. Héctor anxiously stared at the flames and fiddled with the torn, muddied sleeves of the staff uniform he was still wearing.

His view was blocked by legs. Héctor followed them up to Ernesto’s frowning face. The famous musician was carrying two pieces of paper and reading them over a final time before nodding and placing them down on the coffee table between them.

Curiously, Héctor leaned closer to read but Ernesto only wagged a finger in his face and directed his attention back to him. Ernesto sat down in his own chair, which of course was larger and with extra pillows. He put one knee over the other and plastered on a smile. “Enjoy your swim?”

It felt like a slap to the face. Fury, often swept aside for more positive emotions, rose so suddenly it made Héctor feel sick. He was about to make a snappy remark when Ernesto raised a palm and said with a bored tone, “Before you say something you might regret, know that I have no qualm about throwing you back in. I can happily spend the rest of my afterlife without you crossing my mind again. Understand?”

Behind him, Héctor felt the security guards’ presence. He begrudgingly nodded. His compliance worked. Ernesto relaxed deeper into his chair and accepted the tea offered by a waiter. Héctor awkwardly sat with his hands on his knees, choosing to look at the fire.

Something rubbed up against his calves.

An _alebrije_ sniffed at the mud coated on Héctor’s toes and wagged its tail. It was a chihuahua and there was no need to guess who it belonged to. Compared to Ernesto who had always loved every animal he met, Héctor was more cautious after a farmer’s dog bit him as a young child. This little dog, though, kept its sharp teeth hidden in its mouth and instead rolled on its back and showed off its stomach asking for a pat.

Héctor reached down.

“Don’t touch her.”

Héctor’s hand froze.

Ernesto stared at him until Héctor pulled back completely. With a click of the fingers, the _alebrije_ jumped onto Ernesto’s lap and snuggled close. She sighed happily as Ernesto patted her. It occurred to Héctor that the dog lived a far better afterlife than himself and everyone else in Shantytown.

“Did you mean it?” Ernesto said suddenly.  

Héctor was almost afraid to ask. “…mean what?”

“That you would do anything. Was that true?”

A queasy feeling bubbled below Héctor’s ribcage. Shadows casted by the fireplace flickered over Ernesto’s stoic face as he waited for Héctor’s answer. Every instinct of his screamed for his silence but the security guards and the memory of the cenote’s repetitive water droplets pushed a reluctant answer out. “…Yes. If… If I can see Coco on _Día de los Muertos_ then –”

“– Are you seeing her? You don’t look remembered Héctor,” Ernesto interrupted with casual ease, his eyes lazily taking in the state of Héctor’s bones. “Do you even have a photo on an _ofrenda_?”

Ernesto’s remark stung enough but his extra smirk cut deeper. Héctor gritted his teeth and muttered, “I …well, I _try_ to cross the bridge. Every year. I …I have to try.”

“So, you don’t have a photo.”

Héctor’s hands clenched. “And who’s fault is that?!” He instantly regretted his outburst, terrified of being hauled away by the guards back into the cenote.

Instead, Ernesto scoffed like a silly joke had been told. “Yours of course. You walked out, not me…” he gave his _alebrije_ a scratch behind the ear before adding with the tone of a teacher lecturing their unruly student, “You have a habit of breaking promises Héctor. That’s not my fault.”

At that, Ernesto drank the rest of his tea, ignoring the dumb-struck grubby skeleton.

Héctor didn’t keep his eyes off Ernesto, searching for the friend he had once loved as a brother. He thought of Imelda too, and the way her passionate fire he had admired in his songs had turned into an inferno and burnt when he tried to reach for her.

This wasn’t his fault. None of this was –

– well, actually, he really shouldn’t have ever left. If he hadn’t been such an idiot, none of this would have happened. But Ernesto stealing his songs had not helped. It had only aggravated the already opened and bleeding wound.

Ernesto placed his empty tea cup down and Héctor spoke up, gathering all of his remaining strength to say with utmost certainty, “I _will_ cross that bridge eventually.”

He remained firm with his proclamation even as Ernesto looked less than convinced.

“If you’re so sure,” Ernesto shrugged. A sneaky smile slithered on his face. “ _Unless_ you’re stuck in that sinkhole –”

“– No!” Héctor leapt up from his chair so suddenly it spooked the _alebrije_ who arched her back and growled. Undeterred by her or Ernesto’s darkened frown, Héctor beseeched, “Please Ernesto! I _have_ to cross that bridge!”

“Sit down!” Ernesto snapped, stroking the dog’s multicoloured fur.

Héctor sat but with a tremble in his bones.

Once Ernesto had gained control of the situation again, he said, “So… you will do anything just to have that chance at crossing the bridge?”

“Yes, I’ve already said so. _Yes_!”

And he meant it so much it hurt.

Much to Héctor’s surprise, a pleased smile bloomed on Ernesto’s face.

“ _Perfecto_!” Ernesto said, then gestured to the pieces of paper on the coffee table. “It’s an …unfortunate situation Héctor, but the idea of you wandering around free does not sit comfortably with me. I need to keep an eye on you. _This_ is how we can both be happy.”

Frowning (and now with permission), Héctor picked up the paper and realised quickly it was a contract. He only read to the end of the first paragraph before asking, puzzled, “Personal assistant?”

“ _Sí_ ,” Ernesto said, far more relaxed and casual than before. Almost enthusiastic. “You’ll work for me directly. You’ll organise my calendar, my schedule, make my calls, make bookings, there’s a lot to do. Laundry, cleaning, carrying my luggage, food too –”

“– Wait, wait –”

“– You’ll do everything I need you to do. Understand?”

Héctor struggled to put all of his thoughts together for a good moment. He hadn’t expected this.

“I… Ernesto, I’ll …look, I’ll keep quiet,” he swore, desperate to get away even if it meant letting his songs and their memories go forever. “I-I _swear_ it. I won’t say anything, I promise –”

“– didn’t we just established your promises mean nothing?” Ernesto replied coldly. “I foolishly trusted you to follow me to the end of the earth once. We were going to be famous musicians together. But you broke that promise. I can’t trust you to keep your word.”

“You’re the one who –”

“– _I’m_ the one who can put you back into that sinkhole if you don’t want to cooperate.”

Héctor’s next line of defence collapsed. The papers in his hands felt heavy as he held them closer and reread the opening paragraph. “So, if… if I work for you I –?”

“– you get to remain here, in my mansion, and on _Día de los Muertos_ you’ll be free to cross the bridge …if you can.”

Héctor sank in his defeat. He looked at the mess he had landed himself in and tried to uncover a positive. It was …it was just work. He could do that. Simple domestic tasks and secretary duties weren’t going to ruin his afterlife. How much worse could his afterlife possibly get anyway? But even after his internal consultation, he still felt sick as he answered, “Alright. I’ll do it.”

Pleased, Ernesto chuckled. “What do you know? You can make a smart decision every once in a while.” He pulled out a pen from the pocket of his shirt and held it out. “Sign it. Second page.”

Héctor pretended he didn’t hear the jab. He mumbled, “I just need to read all of this first –”

Ernesto sighed irritably. “What do you need to read it for? Just get on with it and sign!”

Trapped, Héctor unhappily took the pen and switched to the second page. The act of writing his signature was too easy for what felt like a monumental decision. As soon as Héctor lifted the pen, the papers were ripped from his hands by Ernesto who held it out to a guard. “Lock it away. You know where.”

Héctor watched the papers until they disappeared behind closed doors.

A thought occurred to him. “Uh, Ernesto?”

“Hm?”

“When …when is _Día de los Muertos_? It must be soon right?”

Ernesto smiled. “Oh? Didn’t you know? It was yesterday.”

If Héctor hadn’t been sitting in a chair, he would have fallen to the floor, his bones unable to carry the weight of his horrified shock.

He failed. He _failed_!

What kind of father was he that he couldn’t even make the effort to try crossing the bridge every year? Devastated felt too weak of a word to describe how he felt. The guards had to drag him out of Ernesto’s room after the man gave an order. Héctor barely even comprehended what Ernesto had said. Something about breakfast tomorrow and a room and, what did it matter? _What did it matter_?!

Héctor’s mind was like static and it only began to refocus once he was shoved into a tiny cramped bedroom. The walls were brown, there was a single hanging lightbulb that smacked into Héctor’s face as soon as he took a step forward, and a lumpy mattress supported by a creaky iron frame. Compared to Shantytown, it was quite the luxury.

Shut away in the room, Héctor stumbled to his bed and tried to process what he had just agreed to, all while apologising over and over again to Coco for failing to even try this year.

He’ll fix it. Next year, he would redouble his efforts. And try again and again and again and again until the flowers finally supported his feet and allowed him to cross. He would never stop trying, even if it meant working for Ernesto for the rest of his afterlife.

Which –

Which – won’t be so bad. It _won’t_ be. He’ll make sure this will work. So long as he eventually saw Coco. And –

Héctor pulled out his grinning photograph and tried to imagine the last time he felt as happy as he looked in the picture. Feeling uneasy about its safety, Héctor found a new place to hide it in the drawer of the bedside table. It wasn’t much but Héctor was content, so long as its existence was unknown to everyone but him.

So long as he had that secret everything would be alright.

So long as he had the chance to cross that bridge everything would be alright.

It would be alright. It would be alright…

 _…Díos mío_ , how had it come to this?


	2. First Day Part 1

Héctor was woken abruptly.

There was a loud bash that he barely had the chance to register before he was lifted to his feet by his arm. Still hovering between leftover sleep and awareness, Héctor instinctively fought against whatever had grabbed him. It was only when both of his hands were locked in a tight grip that Héctor’s mind finally caught up and realised he was face to face with a grouchy looking security guard.

Oh. That’s right.

Worried Ernesto had lost interest in their deal, Héctor prepared for the worst.

“You’re late,” the security guard stated.

“…wha –?”

The end of his question was lost as he was dragged out of his room and down the hallway. Sunlight shone through the windows and finely dressed staff strolled passed by, staring at the struggle between Héctor and the guard.

“Wait, wait! Ow!”

The bones of his hands felt like they were being crushed to dust. Héctor tried digging his heels into the floor but he shouldn’t have bothered. The guard was on a mission and was determined to complete it, in record time too. Surrendering, Héctor made an effort to keep up with the guard’s brisk pace. In return, the hold around his hands relaxed so it no longer hurt.

Even with the last remnants of sleep easing away, Héctor still felt exhaustion cripple every bone in his body and eat away at his concentration. Although all dead and skeletons, their bodies could only last so long without proper sleep and the rehabilitation it brought to the mind. The last time he slept soundly was before the cenote. _Dios mío_ , he wanted to go back to bed. What was he doing up and about again?

As if answering him, the guard shoved Héctor into a bright room. His eyes squinted. Most of the walls were made from glass and the artificial potted plants decorating the relatively small room did little to lower the sunlight’s intensity. In the middle was a round table and two fancy chairs hosting breakfast. And there sat Ernesto.

An uncomfortable feeling Héctor couldn’t name shivered up his spine. Despite the obvious invitation to join him, Héctor hesitated.  

The guard pushed him forward. It felt like traversing through a field of hidden explosives as Héctor cautiously approached and sat. A second later, the two were alone. Ernesto did not speak to him straight away, let alone look at him. Too busy with his tea and breakfast which, now that Héctor thought about, looked incredible.

Food had become a luxury since residing in Shantytown. Being dead meant dying of hunger wasn’t a possibility but phantom hunger pains still proved troublesome. Taste remained as well despite the lack of tongues, which every skeleton running the catering industry was forever thankful for. The only ones not thankful were people like Héctor who didn’t have the funds to indulge in their favourite foods. All they could do was glumly rely on memories of their living days to satisfy their cravings. 

Speaking of, there was a bowl of tangerines that almost glowed underneath the sun’s rays. They were being completely ignored by Ernesto. What wasn’t being ignored was Héctor.

Ernesto had finally decided to initiate a conversation. “We won’t be having a repeat of that.”

Confused, Héctor blurted out, “What?”

Ernesto frowned but it melted into a small fond smile. “That’s right, trying to get you out of bed was like pulling teeth out.” His smell fell. “But that ends now. You’ll be up at dawn to attend to your duties. I’ll get you an alarm clock if I have to.”

Ernesto wasn’t lying. Héctor had been atrocious at waking up at a reasonable hour. The only effective method had been his daughter mumbling in his ear that Mamá was reaching for her shoe.  It wasn’t always his fault, to be fair. Working late into the night for performances or when bursts of inspiration hit meant that some hours in the morning were inevitably going to be sacrificed. Since arriving in the Land of the Dead, Héctor had gotten better. Kind of. Some people in Shantytown would say otherwise but they were just being dramatic in his opinion. 

“Do… do I have to wake up so early?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ernesto answered. He reached for the bowl of tangerines.

Héctor’s figurative heart leapt then sank when he realised Ernesto wasn’t offering him the fruit but merely moving them out of the way to reveal a leather-bound notebook and pen behind it.

“These are yours,” Ernesto said, sliding them over. “You’re to write everything of importance in this.”

Héctor picked up the notebook. It was identical to his old red songbook save for the colour, which was a dark bark brown. The pages inside were bare and the pen to fill them up was _fancy_. The same kind of fancy that made every day objects ten times more expensive than they needed to be. “What counts as important?” he asked.

“Have a think. I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” Ernesto muttered as he poured himself a cup of tea, leaving Héctor to stew in the insult. Some _amigo_. The teacup dinged against the saucer as Ernesto continued, “I’m a busy man, Héctor. I star in movies, I perform for events, I’m the founder of an instrument manufacturing company and I co-run a record label with my agent. I need you –” he tapped the notebook. “– to keep track of everything. My calendar isn’t going to organise itself.”

The extent of Ernesto’s work and Héctor’s place in it began to dawn on him. He stared at the notebook again, knowing this was going to be the first of many more to come. A thought occurred to him. “Uh… will I even have the time to…?”

“To what?”

“Do everything else? You said laundry and cooking and cleaning and –”

“Of course you’ll have the time. Don’t be lazy,” Ernesto cut him off dismissively. Everything about the way Ernesto carried himself and the tone he used made Héctor feel like a spoiled brat for even asking questions. Which only annoyed him. He suppressed his irritation when Ernesto spoke again, “Just follow the schedule I’ve prepared for you. Here, write it down.”

Héctor only managed to click his pen when Ernesto began listing things off in a rapid succession. “Get up at 5. Iron the laundry. Feed my dogs. Restock the fireplaces. Leave my fireplace for last. When you get there, wake me up. As I’m readying myself, make my bed and tidy up the room –”

“– wait, wait, wait! Hold on!”

Ernesto’s voice lowered to a frustrated sigh. Héctor didn’t want to admit it but the incredibly unhappy look on Ernesto’s face put him on edge. Scrambling to recover the mood, Héctor explained himself, “You – you were going too fast. Let me just…” he hastily scribbled the instructions in the notebook, a pinch of displeasure at his messy writing. “Let me just get this down. So, you know, you don’t have to repeat yourself.”

Ernesto scoffed. “Oh, I see. You can write to _Imelda_ at lightning fast speed but for me? It’s just too difficult?”

Héctor’s scribbling halted at Imelda’s name. It felt like a snake had curled around his ribcage and squeezed it. “N-no. It’s just … I just…”

Thinking of his wife dampened his willingness to argue further. “I apologise,” Héctor begrudgingly said. “So, I clean your room. What comes next?”

“…then, we sit here, and I have breakfast,” Ernesto went on, accepting Héctor’s apology. “While we’re here, you’ll tell me what I have planned for today, and I’ll make any changes if needed. After that, we’ll head off to our first appointment. Then the next, and the next, and you get the idea. I hope.”

Héctor wrote it down. “You do sound busy. So, uh –”

Ernesto shushed him. “After that you’ll …” his voice trailed off. Ernesto’s stare felt like being inspected under a microscope. “You’re _filthy_. I can’t have you follow me around looking like that!”

Héctor slouched. His grubby state wasn’t his fault! “Nothing a shower can’t fix.”

Ernesto snorted. “You need more than a shower. Come on, we –” he checked his silver watch and swore. “We’re going to be late at this rate.”

Ernesto rung a little bell. Two staff members entered and began clearing the table. With Ernesto’s back to him, Héctor debated with himself if it was worth trying to sneak a tangerine for breakfast. It had been so long since he’d had one, and it reminded him of Coco and how she used to make a mess with the fruit’s juices.

Héctor reached for a tangerine.

Ernesto met his hand half way, catching it and dragged him out of his seat.

“I meant now, Héctor.”

A skeleton carried the tangerines away. Héctor vowed to get one next time. He skidded to a stop when Ernesto turned back to him. “Did you remember the notebook?”

Oops. Héctor sheepishly collected the notebook and pen from the table.

“Work on that memory of yours,” Ernesto sighed tiredly. “We need to get you to Karina.”

Soon, the two of them were marching through the hallways. Every staff member that passed them gave Ernesto a courteous nod. By the fifth turn at their fast speed, Héctor’s limp was more pronounced and sending waves of mild pain up his leg. By the eighteen turn, Héctor had to lean against a wall. Luckily for him, Ernesto finally slowed to a stop at an office and called for someone inside.

A skeleton in a bottle-green dress emerged from the office. “Señor de la Cruz, good morning.”

“Morning Karina,” Ernesto greeted kindly. He gestured to Héctor. “Please… fix him.”

Héctor rolled his eyes at Ernesto’s unnecessary dramatics.

This Karina assessed her new job and nodded. “I’ll have him ready in half an hour.”

Ernesto swore under his breathe. He glared at Héctor. “We’re going to be late because of you. Karina, please, I understand this takes time, but I need Héctor faster than that.”

Raising an eyebrow (one that had been draw on, Héctor noticed), the woman answered, “Of course. I’ll have him ready in fifteen minutes. He’ll need to return in a week though.”

“That’s fine. _Gracias_.”

Héctor’s hand was grabbed again and Ernesto pulled him towards Karina. He gulped down his yelp of pain, hoping for a bath to sooth his aggravated leg.

“Once you’re done, wait for me in the garage,” Ernesto demanded before walking off.

“Wait! Where’s the garage?”

All Héctor received was another sigh. “Ask around!”

Héctor did not appreciate that answer.

He didn’t get to voice his complaint because Karina did not appreciate him wasting her time.

“Come on!”

~o0o~

 

Never in life or death had Héctor ever experienced a hot shower.

Now that he had, it was up there as one of his favourite modern inventions ever.

After Karina had quickly taken his measurements, she had thrown him in. He had felt foolish asking for help turning it on but like the dried mud on his bones, it was soon washed away and the only emotion he felt left was contentment. Did he have to go to work? Couldn’t he just …stay here forever?

Suddenly the water turned frighteningly cold and Héctor leapt out, crashing into the tiled wall.

Now that he was out of the running water, he could hear hard knocking on the bathroom door and Karina’s voice calling through, “Open up!”

In a rush, Héctor spun the taps to turn the shower off, covered himself with a towel and opened the door. Karina had her hands on her hips and her necklace rang when she shook her head. “I had to flush the toilet to get you out,” she lectured as she led him to another room. “Five times I knocked. Did you not hear me?”

What did flushing toilets have to do with this? “No?”

“Just don’t give me trouble next week alright? I can only handle so much.” Karina requested. She did sound very tired… “In here.”

‘Here’ turned out to be another bathroom but instead of a shower, there was a large deep bath. The water was steaming and would otherwise look inviting except for its odd colour. At Héctor’s confusion, Karina clarified, “We need to dye your bones. Everyone working under Señor de la Cruz must share the same shade of white.”

“Oh…” he compared the colour of Karina’s skeleton and the bath water and found it did indeed match. “What shade is it?”

Karina rubbed her temples. “Not now. I’ll tell you later if you’re really that interested. Hand me your wig. It needs a wash. Your goatee too.”

“Do they really?” he gave her a grin. “How do you know it’s not just my natural style?”

A spark of impatience burned in Karina’s eyes. She swiped both hair pieces off Héctor’s skull. “Just get in. I don’t want trouble if you’re late. Submerge yourself completely and stay there. I’ll return in five minutes.”

She slammed the door on her way out. Well someone didn’t know how to take a joke.

Now alone with only an oddly coloured bath, Karina’s instructions sank in. Submerge completely and stay? It did make sense, it wasn’t as though he was going to drown. But the instinct and normality breathing brought were still at play. To stop that for five minutes sounded daunting. However … facing an angry Karina sounded far worse, and Héctor didn’t even want to imagine how Ernesto would react.

He did anyway, and immediately jumped into the bath.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

Héctor accidentally breathed and his ribcage lurched violently at the feeling of liquid running through his nasal bone. Though illogical, Héctor covered his nose and mouth with his hands, trying to sooth away his panic. Don’t be silly. You’re dead. You ain’t getting any deader. Héctor managed to stay underwater for the five minutes required but by the end of the session, his head felt fuzzy from the internal battle he’d had with himself. Blearily, he checked out his hands and his mouth fell.

It was a charade, yes, but his bones had not gleamed so white in decades. If one looked close enough they would spot the rough edges but beyond that, Héctor looked Remembered. It would be nice if he was…

Karina hissed when she nearly dropped one of the many items she was carrying. One was Héctor’s wig and goatee which he gladly accepted. Both were washed, cut and dried and look so shiny! He was also handed his uniform on two coat hangers, which consisted of long black pants and a white shirt. How very plain. _Clearly_ Ernesto was still jealous of Héctor’s stunning good looks and had to dress him in duller clothes in order to outshine him.

The last item in Karina’s arms was a bag which she popped open and fished out small colour samples. She pointed to Héctor’s uniform. “Put them on.”

Héctor’s eyes darted between the clothes and Karina. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

At Héctor’s frozen state, Karina sighed. “It’s not like we got anything to show. Please get dressed. We don’t have all the time in the world.

“…Fine.”

It was not fine, but he did what Karina asked anyway. He suspected that, like Chicharrón, when pushed too far, she would become the most unpleasant person to be around. The last thing Héctor needed was to make more enemies. So, he swallowed down his embarrassment and unwrapped his towel. As he dressed, Karina occasionally propped his chin up and held colour palettes to his face. By the third time, Héctor recognised the colours as the same ones that made up his skull markings. Once Karina had her five colours, she separated them from the rest and put them in the pocket of her blouse. Héctor meanwhile did up the last button of his shirt. It was cut to fall just below his bottom rib and had a solid structure hidden within the material to prevent it from tangling between his ribcage.

He heard Karina seethe and saw her checking a pocket watch. “Out, out, out,” she pressed. “Come on.”

Karina led him to the heart of her office. It was brimming with cluttered items. There were tables covered with cloth and material left half measured and cut, sewing machines familiar with hard work but cleaned and well loved, mannequins modestly and not so modestly dressed, and wigs of various cuts stationed before a door that opened into a walk-in wardrobe. Héctor sat on a stool and was rolled to Karina’s vanity. Tubes of paints and brushes were neatly stacked bedside the mirror. Karina sorted through them, using the palettes as her guide.  

“Sooooo,” Héctor spoke up, uncomfortable with the lack of conversation. He nearly coughed at the strong smell of paint. “Do I get shoes or…?”

“Of course,” Karina replied, still focused on her tubes of paint. She growled at the various shades of purple, growing more impatient. After another failed attempt at finding the colour she wanted, she huffed and asked, “Why wouldn’t you get shoes?”

“W-well…”

Karina used a paintbrush to point over Héctor’s shoulder. “They’re over there. Socks too. You can put them on now – quickly – while I get _this_ sorted. I _can’t_ seem to find a purple that matches!”

As the make-up artist continue to conflict with her art supplies (“I swear I had bought enough!”), Héctor put on his black polished shoes and socks. He shivered at the odd feeling of his feet snugged tightly in an enclosed space.

Imelda came to mind again. He had learnt about a successful shoe making business from Santa Cecelia, under the name Rivera. It hadn’t surprised him at all that Imelda had taken up a trade and done absolutely everything one could with it. She’d always had the stubbornness equivalent to an aggressive dog’s locked jaws.

Karina smacked her hand on her desk. “Forget it! We’ll just go with _this_ purple. It’s close enough!”

Once her skull canvas was in positioned, she twirled a pencil-thin paintbrush between her fingers like a drummer and got to work. “Sit still,” she muttered as she carefully traced one of Héctor markings, then filled it in.

It brought a smile to Héctor’s face thinking of how bright his markings would look after being dull and faded for so long. The smile was also due to the brush feeling ticklish despite there being only bone. He guessed (correctly) Karina wouldn’t appreciate his giggling. “So! Is this all you do or –?”

“– Now is really not the time to talk,” Karina said, washing out her paintbrush. She used a sunny yellow next.

“Oh, okay.”

A few seconds of Karina curling the brush around Héctor’s cheekbones passed.

“Also, I’m Héctor. By the way. In case you missed it. And you’re Karina?”

Karina gritted her teeth and gave him a desperate look. “ _Héctor_ , my job is to make you look presentable on time for Señor de la Cruz. Now will you please let me do my job?”

“Sorry.”

As the markings on his forehead were painted Héctor’s thoughts wandered. He reckoned Karina would get along splendidly with Chicharrón. Both were lacking in a good sense of humour and neither much understood Héctor’s inability to sit still and silently for too long. His mood had to be rock-bottom in order to be immobilised and while working under Ernesto wasn’t ideal, it was already looking far better than rotting away in the sinkhole …which was Ernesto’s fault but that didn’t change the fact that Héctor wished Karina wasn’t so delicate with her work.

Bored out of his mind, Héctor’s attention pounced when there was the sound of shuffling feet followed by a skeleton strolling into the office. A very familiar looking skeleton. Who almost knocked over a mannequin with his exaggerated movements when he laid eyes on Héctor. “Oh!” the skeleton exclaimed so loudly it made Héctor wince. “You must be the new guy! Hey, I’m Emilio.”

 _I know_ , almost fell out. Héctor cleared his throat and introduced himself.

Behind Karina’s displeased expression, Emilio almost crashed into a table as he moved to his own chaotic vanity. It was drowning in unfinished clothes and surrounded by a circle of mannequins. “How does your uniform feel?” he asked leaning forward. “I made the adjustments, and I think they’re looking pretty splendid. Wouldn’t you say, Karina?”

Karina shot Emilio a look.

Well, the mystery maker behind Héctor’s uniform was solved before it even began.

Héctor judged the fitting of his uniform. “It’s… good?”

Emilio smiled like he had won the lottery. He loudly thanked him, his sudden volume made Héctor flinch, which caused Karina to stumble in her painting. Fuming, she tore tissues from a box, wetted them with a bottle of water and roughly rubbed out her mistake on Héctor’s chin. It certainly didn’t feel like a massage. At his vanity, Emilio gave a sheepish smile and said with a quieter voice, “Sorry. My Mamá always said I need to ‘curb my enthusiasm.’”

 _I know_ , Héctor thought too.

“Just enjoy your break in silence please,” Karina replied stiffly.

With her mistake cleaned up, she dipped the wooden end of the paintbrush into the red paint. She pressed the paint over the dots around Héctor’s eye sockets a little too hard. As she progressed, so did the time and she kept looking going back and forth between her work and watch. Each double check made her grimace. And with each grimace, Héctor’s guilt prickled and doubled in intensity. He considered apologising for his lateness causing her grief. Before he could though, he saw Emilio pulling something closer to him and his sewing kit. It was –

“My hat! You still have it?”

It took two seconds of Emilio and Karina staring to realise that wasn’t the correct thing to say.

Emilio placed his needle down. “This is yours?”

Héctor shrank under Karina’s critical gaze. “Uh, yes. I …lost it.”

“It was in my bedroom.”

“…yes.”

“Six months ago?” Emilio gaped.

Héctor wanted to die again. “Yup! I was – uh – here for aaaaaa job interview …with Ernesto.”

The others gasped. With her free hand, Karina lightly slapped Héctor’s head.

“Ow, hey –!”

“– Who do you think you are calling him by his first name? That’s Señor de la Cruz to you!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

Karina shook her head. “Where in the world did you come from?” she muttered.

A place where Ernesto was _never_ called ‘Señor de la Cruz’ by his peers. The adults use to laugh at a much younger Ernesto talking like he was bigger and stronger than he actually was. Héctor used to snicker too, hiding his large grin behind his hands. It never got tiring seeing his friend, who felt like an older brother, getting his ego knocked down a peg. Considering the fame and wealth he had attributed, the last thing Ernesto needed was Héctor calling him ‘Señor de la Cruz.’

Emilio patted the straw hat, his cheerfulness brightening up the whole room. “Well, if this is yours then I suppose I better give it back. It doesn’t suit me anyway. Hope you don’t mind what I’ve done with it. I couldn’t help it.” Emilio showed off the hat.

It had been repaired. Thanks to Emilio’s handy skills it looked even better than when Héctor was gifted it. It made him choke up seeing something so special all fixed up after spending months thinking it was gone forever. “ _Gracias_. It looks perfect.”

“Not perfect yet,” Karina butted in. “Emilio, finish it off.”

With a dedicated nod, Emilio dived back into his work.

Karina turned back to Héctor. “Now…” she whispered to him sceptically. “Six months ago? As far as I’m concerned, Señor de la Cruz wasn’t searching for a new personal assistant six months ago.”

Hearing Karina’s patience ticking, the traffic in Héctor’s head crashed. He had no clue what the correct thing to say was. But, he tried to reason, this was like all those sticky situations he had gotten himself into with the bridge’s security. By now, he was an expert at twisting out of disasters with non-answers and sleezy grins. Pulling out an excuse from a ready supply of them, Héctor replied with forced casualness, “You said so yourself, ‘as far as you know.’ Maybe you just didn’t know?”

Karina’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t insult me,” she hissed. “Bruno was the best personal assistant one could ask for. There was no reason for Señor de la Cruz to hire someone else when he had Bruno.”

“So, this Bruno was good at his job?”

“ _Very_. You got a lot to live up to.”

“Don’t you mean ‘die up to’ – hey!” Héctor’s dismal joke earned him a tug of his hair. He didn’t miss the small smile gracing Karina’s lips, so the joke couldn’t have been that terrible.

“We’ll talk about this later. Sit still. I’m nearly done,” Karina said, her voice gentler. The joke must have really worked! As her paintbrush gave a final flick, she said, “You have pretty markings. Very colourful. They’re not to Señor de la Cruz’s taste though.”

Héctor frowned. So what? Judging by the mansion’s architecture, Ernesto had poor tastes anyway.

His thoughts were breezed away when a hair dryer was lifted to his face. Karina held it in place and unravelled a cord wrapped around her arms. Glancing over her shoulder, she yelled over the dryer, “Emilio! Get the vest!”

“On it!”

“I get a vest too?”

Karina nodded. “I put your notebook and pen in the front pocket.”

“Oh... _Gracias_. I forgot about them.”

“Don’t.”

Emilio returned carrying a black vest. Sure enough, the front pocket was bulging with the top of the leather notebook peeking out. But what caught Héctor’s eye were the gold branch patterns decorating the vest. He had always wanted a _charro_ suit with that exact design, a design that reminded him of a midnight sky bursting with stars. For now, he was happy with the vest filling that spot. He gladly put it on and Karina switched off the dryer.

“Stand up.”

Karina circled him, tucking lose hair back into place and flattening the uniform where it wrinkled, until finally, she was pleased with the end result. She checked her watched and beamed. “Got it.”

Emilio clapped, and Karina rolled her eyes.

Héctor joined Emilio in his clapping just to annoy her.

~o0o~

This was _hopeless_. Where in the world was this garage?

Never shy around strangers, Héctor had no problem asking around for directions. But every time he did, the instructions given would make his head spin. How many rights and how many lefts, and go south from the courtyard? Where was the courtyard?! His befuddlement irritated the especially cranky staff members who vocally told him they had far better things to do than lead him around the mansion like a lost puppy.

A map would have done him wonders.

Only able to recall four to five instructions in one go, Héctor gradually made his way through the ridiculously sized mansion until finally arriving in the foyer. The foyer was quite the spectacle with a high ceiling, expensive-looking pottery dotted here and there, and a massive stairway at the centre. It was made from black stone with a white rug slithering down the middle like a creek cutting into a mountain. It led up to a second story balcony where maids rolled trolleys filled with laundry. They were as silent as a mouse _alebrije_. Héctor wasn’t so lucky, forgetting how noisy shoes could be. They squeaked like the mouse _alebrije_ was trodden on.

The maids appeared too busy to notice the noise but the skeletons guarding the huge front door turned to his direction. Héctor wasn’t sure if his markings glowed with embarrassment due to the paint covering them but it sure felt like they were burning. Trying to blow the mishap away, Héctor gestured to the door on the other side of the room. “Is that, um, the garage?”

He received rigid nods.

“… _Gracias_.”

It should have been simple. It never was. In a pitiful attempt to discreetly back away from the guards and then towards the garage, Héctor didn’t see an incoming maid with a laundry trolley until he collided into them. The trolley tipped over and clattered loudly on the floor. The pile of laundry tumbled out in a heap and into a podium displaying a blue pot. Neither the maid or Héctor were given the chance to react to the pot losing its balance and shattering on the floor, but this was due to the maid’s skull popping off and rolling into the trolley, and Héctor entire upper body disconnecting from the lower. His hips and legs dangled uselessly on the ground while the rest of him lay in laundry pile. Burying himself inside sounded extremely appealing as the maid gasped and tried to pick up her head. Magnetising his body back together, Héctor sat up and realised Karina’s efforts to make him look neat and tidy had come undone. Fantastic.

Then Héctor realised there was someone at the front door.

A very important looking someone, judging by the way the guards had taken his luggage.

Wonderful.

 _Then_ the door to the garage opened and Ernesto emerged. His winning smile fell like an anchor.

Even better!

The universe was clearly against him. Héctor almost gave up right then and there.

Instead, he scrambled to his feet and offered his help to the maid. She accepted it, her hold fragile and her eyes locked to her feet in shame. She gathered enough in her to join Héctor in facing Ernesto together, who looked ready to throttle them. However, with a deep breath, he forced through a charming smile for the guest still standing by the door.

“Roberto! Don’t mind the mess. Right this way.”

Ernesto held an arm out towards the garage. Héctor cringed as this Roberto sneered at the mess and the ones who caused it before abiding by Ernesto’s prompting. Once Roberto was out of sight, a thunderous expression darkened Ernesto’s face. He pointed to the maid, “Clean this up. And you,” Héctor straightened. “Follow me.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Héctor murmured to the poor mortified maid before chasing after Ernesto.

Upon slipping into the garage, Héctor rolled his eyes at the numerous snazzy sports cars all lined up in a row. All glossy, all stylish and all _way_ too expensive to be sensible. Héctor didn’t want to give Ernesto the satisfaction of counting them. Instead, he jogged up to the limousine closest to the massive entrance. Ernesto was happily chatting to the driver who sat at the wheel with his window fully down. Noticing Héctor, Ernesto waved him over and ordered the driver to roll the window up and serve Roberto. As Héctor approached, he felt the same uncomfortable feeling from this morning.

The limousine’s windows closed.

It was just Ernesto and Héctor.

Unsettled by the silence, Héctor went to speak. “Ernest –”

His wrist was suddenly trapped in a shockingly tight grip. Ernesto roughly dragged Héctor away from the limousine, ignoring his pained grunts. When they finally had the privacy Ernesto wanted, he pulled Héctor close and hissed, “What was _that_?”

Ernesto’s harsh tone made Héctor’s knees buckle, but he held his ground. No matter the decades of separation between them, Ernesto was once the boy he grew up with and he wasn’t about to be intimidated by him. Not again. “Which part?” he asked sarcastically. “The lack of a map for your mansion, your stupid amount of cars, or that snob with an attitude problem? You tell me – ow! Let go!”

Héctor’s wrist bones groaned under Ernesto’s strength.

“You _don’t_ talk to me like that. Not now, not ever,” Ernesto’s demand decayed into impatient seething when he saw Héctor was busy trying to free his wrist rather than pay attention. Héctor had no choice but to look at Ernesto dead in the eye when his chin was seized.

“Let me go –!”

“– _Shut up_!”

Héctor ceased his struggling.

Ernesto released Héctor’s chin but was still visibly displeased. He jabbed a finger right into Héctor’s rib as he said forcefully, “You represent me now. I can’t have you embarrassing me wherever we go. _This_ , Héctor, is not the old days. I’m not your _amigo_ , I’m your boss! You do everything I say regardless of what you think. _That_ is what you signed on the contract. Understand?”

Héctor withered.  

“U-Understood.”

His answer was exactly what Ernesto wanted. Temper soothed for now, Ernesto tidied up his hair. He had to look his best for the press.

Héctor waited, not daring to move.

“You know,” Ernesto said casually. “I could have been much worse considering your behaviour. My agent deserved a far better welcome than what you gave him.”

Héctor nodded at the floor.

He blinked in surprise when Ernesto clicked his fingers in his face. Ernesto stared coldly at him. “Did you not hear me? I kindly refrained myself for your benefit. You can thank me now.”

“… _Gracias_.”

Saying that word had never made Héctor feel so ill and Ernesto accepting the apology only made it worse.

“Come one,” Ernesto said and strode towards the limousine. “We have a busy day, and I still haven’t told you the rest of your schedule. You have the notebook, right?”

Héctor gritted his teeth and patted his vest’s pocket.

“Good. Don’t lose it.”

As Ernesto continued walking, Héctor fought to move his legs.

He took it back. Forget the hot showers, forget his new Remembered look, forget his co-workers, none of it mattered. None of it was worth it. He’d give it all up in a heartbeat, a heartbeat he had not felt in a long time, just so he could return to Shantytown and exist in good company.

But he couldn’t give up Coco.

And Ernesto knew it.

So Héctor moved, committing to his place as Ernesto’s shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this story, gave it kudos and especially those who left a comment. MUCH appreciated. I can only hope this second chapter is alright, considering I've always found the second chapter the hardest to write.


	3. First Day Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coco: Devil Wears Prada AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was so late. University assignments destroyed me and then I found discord and ...well... the wonderful people there are very distracting but also inspiring.

_Daily Planner_

  1. **_Somehow_** _wake up at 5. Get ready._
  2. _Laundry and ironing (figure that out as quickly as possible. Don’t burn the clothes)_
  3. _Feed (and pet) the alebrijes_
  4. _Restock the fireplaces._
  5. _Drag Ernesto out of bed._
  6. _Make his bed, restock his fireplace, tidy up the room, trust Ernesto knows how to dress himself (don’t count on it)_
  7. _Go to breakfast, tell Ernesto what today’s schedule is, make adjustments (maybe eat)_



  1. _Spend the rest of Ernesto’s work day following him around as he does whatever a guy like him has to do._



 

Héctor finished rewriting his list of morning chores, pleased with the neater script. He had been careful to keep the pen stable as the limousine veered around in circles, spiralling down inside the tower. Memories of the cenote were conjured by the minimal light and tight space so focusing on the notebook kept him firmly occupied until the limo approached the exit.

As the limo drove onto the road and into the sunlight, an unfortunate skeleton strayed too close and was bumped at the hip. The limo continued as though nothing happened. Héctor tried to look out the window in hopes of seeing if the skeleton was alright but Ernesto’s introduced manager, Roberto González said nonchalantly, “It’s not like he’s going to die.”

Héctor’s eyes widened a fraction before going back to the notebook. _Note to self – **don’t** annoy the driver. Don’t annoy the manager either_.

Ernesto, meanwhile, did not glance up from the stack of papers in his hands. He sighed and muttered, “Who wrote this?”

“Another bad line?” Roberto said, and by the tone of his voice this was a common occurrence.

Héctor tuned the following conversation out, not really caring whether Ernesto found the dialogue too boring and unrealistic. Instead, he tucked himself away in the corner of the limo and doodled in the notebook. By the time Héctor had drawn a mini Ernesto with an inflated head, he had lost track of the conversation and was content to stay that way. Except a piece of paper was suddenly shoved in his face.

“Héctor.”

Ernesto held a piece of a movie script with multiple lines crossed out and new dialogue scribbled underneath.

Covering his unflattering drawing as discreetly as possible, Héctor answered, “Uh yes _?_ ”

Unimpressed, Ernesto said flatly, “Did you not hear me? I _said_ to take this and give it to the director when we arrive.”

“Oh…” Héctor accepted the paper, quickly folding it and putting it in his vest pocket so he didn’t read the replaced words and laugh himself silly. Ernesto’s ‘poetry’ was always a quick shot of amusement but he had a feeling that wouldn’t go down well.

As Ernesto continued picking apart the script, Roberto checked the time on his pocket watch and promptly rolled the window down. Cool wind flowed inside, rustling hair and paper. Héctor frowned at the mess it was making, wondering what this was for. He was spotted by Roberto, who’s confusion matched his own. Suspicious, Roberto glanced between Héctor and Ernesto, and drawled, “So, what’s this? Needed some friendly company?” 

Héctor dropped his notebook.

Ernesto waved the implication away and chuckled. “He’s my new assistant.”

Héctor’s appearance fell under Roberto’s critical gaze as he picked up the notebook.

“I trust he excelled in his training?”

 _I’m right here_ , Héctor was tempted to say. He was tempted further when Ernesto answered on his behalf, not even bothering to pretend the person in question was part of the conversation, “He’s a work in progress. A little slow but he’ll get there eventually.”

Roberto raised an eyebrow ridge, so Ernesto added, “We’ve worked together, before I met you. But he died unexpectedly so –”

 “– Ernesto!” Héctor cut him off, offended to the highest degree. Who did Ernesto think he was, talking about someone else’s death like it was just the weather? Was it a requirement to lose all sense of manners when hugely rich and famous?

The insult stung further when Ernesto didn’t even apologise. Rather, he looked affronted at the interruption. Roberto stared as though Héctor had been the one mindlessly throwing around someone’s personal information. Even when he was a new arrival in the Land of the Dead, Héctor had figured out quickly that broaching the topic of one’s death was highly inconsiderate. Was he the only one with any sense here? What is _wrong_ with these people?!

There was a loud squawk. Héctor flinched at the sudden noise, then scrambling back when a burst of colour swooped in and landed on the open window beside Roberto. It was a Bird-of-Paradise _alebrije_ with a bright red chest and feathers at the top of its head curled in a flamboyant hairstyle. Long blue feathers fell down its back like a tail. Roberto stroked the bird with a fond smile. In the _alebrije_ ’s long yellow beak was an envelope. It was dropped in Roberto’s outstretched hand.

Intrigued, Héctor watched Roberto read the letter, turn it over and write a response on the other side, before putting it back in the envelope and then into the bird’s open beak. The _alebrije_ accepted another pet around its eyes before it soared away. Roberto closed the window and the limo was quiet again.

Ernesto turned to Roberto, putting aside the previous conversation, and said, “Was that Silvia?”

Roberto nodded. The pocket watch in his hand was clutched in a tight grasp as he said bitterly, “She’ll join us for the meeting. Busy terminating a contract with, what was supposed to be, a new band but their lead singer has stage fright.” He sneered, “I tried to be patient, but I don’t have time to deal with musicians who can’t perform.”

Ernesto shook his head wearing an amused expression. “What a shame. A musician who can’t perform isn’t a musician at all.”

Roberto nodded with satisfaction. “Exactly.”

As the two sat back in their world of agreement, Héctor ran over the many reasons why everything they said was completely and utterly wrong. Without warning, he said, “Maybe if you just gave the singer some help, you’d –”

“– Did we ask for you?” Ernesto hissed.

Héctor swallowed his words. He hated feeling so intimidated by Ernesto of all people. Owning a cenote makes someone very frightening, he supposed. He wanted to continue arguing his point, but he recalled his own contract and remained unhappily quiet. His teeth nearly cracked when Roberto lightly chuckled.

“A little feisty this one.”

“He’ll learn,” Ernesto said shortly. It didn’t escape either his or Héctor’s notice that Roberto didn’t look convinced. He simply wore a smile like he was watching an entertaining train wreck.

Ernesto steered the conversation away from Héctor and to other business-related matters. Héctor’s attention moved to the world outside the limo. The celebrity side to the Land of the Dead was cleaner than the roads and buildings he was used to. It made more of an effort to imitate the Living World but with more extravagance. Fake plants, trees and bushes decorated the sidewalks and hung from the awnings of stores, but the species the plastic replacements were meant to copy did not look to even exist in the Living World, but an entirely made up design with its impossible colours and shapes. Either that or the plants were based off flora outside of México, something Héctor wasn’t in a position to know.

As the limo moved off the main busy streets, a thought occurred to him. There were a lot of buildings and small streets that split off into tinier ones. If he could …make a break for it …perhaps he could use the urban geography to his advantage and lose Ernesto’s guards…

The limo pulled over in front of a building on top of too many stairs to be fair on Héctor’s bones.

The driver left his seat and opened the door. Just as Roberto was halfway out of the car, Héctor roughly pulled the door handle on his side and tried to flee. He crashed into the door instead. Dazed, Héctor tugged at the handle again and miserably realised it was locked. Looking behind him, he expected to see fury burning on Ernesto’s face. Instead, Ernesto stared at him, unimpressed as though Héctor’s actions had simply bored him. It was unnerving and he almost wished for a louder and angrier response.

“This side, Héctor.”

Outside, Roberto bent down to frown at the two of them. “Is there a problem?”

Ernesto flashed him a dazzling smile. “You go on ahead. We’ll meet you at the top.”

 _Please don’t_ , Héctor tried to convey through his strained face. Roberto didn’t pick it up.

Once Roberto was gone, Ernesto closed the door and sighed, rubbing at his temple. “ _Díos mio_ , again? Do we need to revisit our contract?” Tiredly and with a bite in his tone, he added, “Do you _want_ to return to the cenote?”

Héctor could almost hear the repetitive falling droplets, the only sound in a space of isolated darkness. “No. No, no, no, no. It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. No need to get mad.”

It was a plea, one that Ernesto scoffed at. “Stop trying to make me mad then. I have no need for drama –” and before Héctor could wonder when did _that_ happen, Ernesto continued, “– I’m beyond that now. I’ve grown up. I know you haven’t, but I’ve given you a big opportunity so _try_ to act more maturely.”

Héctor was too insulted to respond. Him, immature? Okay, maybe but next to Ernesto? _Ernesto_?!

Without an immediate reply, Ernesto grew impatient. He said coldly, “Let’s make this clear. Even if the door was unlocked, you could never outrun my men. Or, if you could, do you imagine I’d just let you go? That I wouldn’t use my power and fame to completely ruin you?”

Héctor couldn’t bring himself to move, not even to go through the comforting but unnecessary motions of breathing. He remained motionless like ancient stone as Ernesto reopened the limo door and said, “Now, can we go through the day without another problem?”

Stiffly, Héctor nodded.

Like warmth slowly overcoming a chill, Héctor regained the strength to move again. He stuffed the notebook back into his vest’s breast pocket and followed Ernesto out of the car before he could make another …he hesitated to call it a mistake. Irritated brewed in his chest. He was only trying to ‘seize his moment’ and get away. Anyone else would! If anything, Ernesto should count himself lucky he was even in possession of a cenote. A cenote that left its captors weak in spirit after months of isolation. Otherwise, Ernesto’s stupidly big chin would definitely be dented by now.

They met Roberto at the very top of the stairs before a revolving door. Héctor concentrated all his efforts into holding back a pained groan. His limp was a struggle at the best of times but now it felt like it was on fire. To avoid bothering Ernesto, he bit his bottom lip and hid his fists behind his back, hoping whatever meeting they were attending was on the first floor.

Inside, the building was a sharp contrast to the colourful Land of the Dead. It was grey and sleek, and more lifeless than any of its occupants. There was one group of skeletons in particular dressed in business suits that joyfully met Ernesto and wrapped him up in a bundle of attention like a gift. Héctor kept away as though the group was diseased. He didn’t realise Roberto had moved to his side until the manager lit a cigarette and blew the smoke directly into his face.

Héctor coughed and flapped his hand to clear the air. He frowned at Roberto who only sneered and said, “What was it you said? Help the singer?”

In hopes of appealing to the manager, Héctor put on a diplomatic tone as he answered, “Yes. You could help them overcome their fear through counselling or small practise concerts or something, I don’t know. Either way, ending their contract seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”

Roberto took another drag of his cigarette and smirked. “And what would you know about music? No, it’s not extreme at all. It’s called business. Ernesto has never disappointed me. That’s why he’s the best musician I’ve ever worked with.”

~o0o~

 _Be seen, not heard_ , Ernesto told him.

Héctor wrote this down in the corner of the meeting room. He sat in a too small chair that threatened to overbalance if he leaned back too far. Still, at the very least, his aching leg could get a break and that was good enough for him.

The more important skeletons with far better chairs gathered around a long black table. Handshakes and pats on the back were exchanged along with inquires on the recent holiday celebration. Hearing the men talk about the families they visited and how much the Living world was changing made Héctor’s non-existent stomach churn painfully. He dwelled on his missed opportunity to cross the bridge until the meeting officially began when Roberto complained that time was wasting away.

Remembering the purpose of his notebook, Héctor wrote the names of all the attending skeletons with the help of nametags. Then, he noted what he thought was important as artists showed off their concept designs for the latest model of Cruz GuitarsTM. Héctor smirked slightly when he first heard the name but still found enough modesty to admire the instrument company logo. It was Cruz in sharp bolded golden text with the end of the z curling back down and around to form the C. The concept guitars shown off were equally charismatic in their design. At least, Héctor thought so but Roberto yawned, and Ernesto looked doubtful.  

As soon as they finished speaking, there was a knock at the door. Three swift, polite taps. The skeleton in question earned herself a series of warm greetings upon her entrance, her company well established and respected. Her hair was done up, her thin skull framed by glasses, in her arms were two large folders and …

And…?

Héctor stared at the two pigeon _alebrijes_ sitting on her shoulders. Both were covered with spots except for the stripes on their wings. The left was purple and green and fast asleep. Héctor wished they could trade places. The other was blue and gold and its beady eyes narrowed when they landed on Héctor, matching the skeleton it was perched on. Héctor looked behind his shoulder to see if there was anyone there to invoke such sour expression …no. It was definitely him that was this woman’s problem as she rolled up a chair of her own beside him and continued to glower with a coldness completely opposite but equally intense as Imelda’s fire. Hunching under her death glare, Héctor fiddled with the edges of the notebook pages. What could he have possibly done wrong to warrant such a reaction?

It was then he noticed the woman’s notetaking and baulked. Her pen danced across the pages like an expert on a familiar stage. She did not once pause in her writing, doing her outmost to capture everything and anything as though she was writing a transcript. Héctor compared her already completed two pages to his weak attempt. He began copying her. He still wasn’t certain what counted as important, but it made him feel better.

Héctor and the woman’s writing maintained its quick pace for the following hour. Every so often, when Héctor cringed at the pain in his wrists, he would get distracted by the dopey bulbous eyes of the green and purple _alebrijes_. One of its eyes would remain stationary, while the other would slowly ease to right then suddenly snap back. Every time it did, it reminded Héctor to get back to work.

He sighed with relief when the meeting was over. Every bone in his writing hand hurt. It had been many, _many_ years since he had scribbled enthusiastically in his songbook. The woman was not bothered in the slightest as she stretched the joins of her fingers until they cracked. She proceeded to collect the two folders she had placed beside her chair, then chase after Roberto when he called her.

“Silvia, I take it the contract was terminated without a hassle?”

One of the pigeon _alebrijes_ cooed and the woman named Silvia answered robotically, “There were a few tears but nothing I’ve haven’t dealt with before.”

“Good. Now …”

As Roberto discussed things with, what could only be, his personal assistant, Héctor mentally prepared for whatever Ernesto wanted as the musician approach him.

“What did Gregorio want again?”

Héctor blinked. “What?”

“Gregorio, the man on my right. Said he wanted something.”

“…when?”

Ernesto’s jaw clenched. “During the meeting.”

Héctor hastily flipped through his notebook. “When during the meeting?”

Ernesto grumbled something under his breathe then said sharply, “Didn’t you write it down?”

“I did but, hang on. I’m looking, I’m looking.”

“What is _that_?”

“What is what?”

“Since when was your handwriting that terrible?”

Héctor was this close to whacking Ernesto across the face with the notebook. “Since I had to write a thousand words a minute.”

“Can you even read this?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Héctor insisted, then searched for any notes on Gregorio. He squinted his eyes. “…n-no. No, I can’t read this.”

“So you just wasted a few dozen pages?”

Héctor exhaled heavily, a desperate laugh escaping him as his tiredly rubbed his eye sockets. “It’s my first day Ernesto. Please, I’m trying. What Gregorio wanted is in here somewhere. Just give me the chance to find it.”

Ernesto sceptically looked at the notebook then turned away without another word. Héctor took it as his chance to find the information. Frantically, he tried to translate the mess he had made in his book. An awful thought reminded Héctor that he only began religious documenting the meeting after Silvia had arrived, and wondered if Gregorio’s request had occurred before…

Héctor’s fretful thinking plagued him as he and Silvia followed after Ernesto and Roberto down a hallway. The _alebrije_ closest to Héctor ruffled its feathers, while the other bent its neck at a right angle. Héctor hoped he would get an answer for them soon. Silvia hardly noticed the creatures on her shoulders as she diligently read over her notes. They were in stunning condition.  

Quietly, Héctor cleared his throat to get her attention. “Uh …S-Silvia?”

She glared at him.

Héctor shivered. “S-sorry! Um, I just – do you happen to know what Gregorio wanted? I need to tell Ernesto. Whenever you can but soon would be good …now would be better too.”

“It’s Señor de la Cruz to you,” Silvia answered curtly. Her voice was surprisingly high pitched for a woman determined to freeze the Land the Dead. “And weren’t you meant to take notes yourself?”

In his head, Héctor cursed Ernesto, Silvia and the little notebook sitting in his vest pocket. Could someone, anyone, cut him some slack! He reeled back his frustration and waited to answer back once certain Roberto and Ernesto wouldn’t hear him under the volume of their own voices. “It’s my first day. I just missed one thing. Help me out, _please_.”

Silvia shrugged with a demeanour of smug superiority.  “Your training should have ensured you were prepared –”

“– I didn’t get any training,” Héctor snapped back, his patience dried up.

“Then why are _you_ here and not –!?” Silvia cut herself off, her chest heaving at her sudden burst of fury. She squeezed the folders and made it her mission to ignore Héctor’s existence, which was fine with him.

Héctor regretted snapping like that, but he was so, _so_ tired. Regardless, a part of him wanted to apologise. He held out a hand and began to speak but Silvia clicked her tongue and the _alebrije_ closest to his outstretched hand clipped it with its sharp beak. “Ow!” Héctor withdrew his hand. Whatever sympathy he had left for Silvia disappeared.

His finger stung far worse than Ernesto’s scowl or Roberto’s enthusiasm for the moody atmosphere between the two assistants. “Are we interrupting something?” he asked.  

“ _No_ ,” Héctor said through gritted teeth.

Silvia stood up straighter. “Nothing of importance sir. May I remind you our next appointment is in half an hour?”

“Yes, _gracias_ ,” Roberto turned to Héctor wearing a grin. “When is Ernesto’s next appointment?”

 _Up your_ –

“The calendar should say so,” Ernesto answered, folding his arms. “Silvia?”

Silvia nodded but when Héctor tried to accept one of the folders, he had to tug it harder than expected. She gazed at the folder as though it was priceless. Upon opening it up and realising he had all the information on Ernesto’s upcoming events and meetings documented, Héctor agreed that this, indeed, was priceless. His afterlife suddenly felt a little easier now that the future wasn’t lost in a fog of uncertainty…

“Héctor,” Ernesto spoke again. “What did Gregorio want?”

…Never mind.

“I…I don’t know,” Héctor admitted, keeping his voice even. “But I’m sure Silvia would be happy to inform you.”

Judging by the rude gesture sent his way behind her back, Silvia wasn’t happy. But, she had perfected the art of exchanging pleasantries and described the requested items with proper behaviour. When she was done, Ernesto thanked her and asked, “I need Héctor to send a letter. Which one of the _alebrijes_ …?”

Silvia gestured to the pigeon with purple and green dots. She whistled and the _alebrije_ flapped its wings. A few feathers fluttered onto Héctor’s hair as the bird perched itself on his shoulder. One bulbous eye soaked in its new owner’s appearance but the other stared mindlessly at the ceiling so Héctor doubted the _alebrije_ learnt much. At Ernesto’s order, Silvia clarified that the bird’s name was Sol and she couldn’t lift anything heavier than 75 grams.

Héctor might have patted Sol if he wasn’t so afraid her biting him like the other had done.

After a few more directions from Ernesto, Héctor found a bundle of envelopes and paper in a separated plastic sheet within the calendar. He wrote down Ernesto’s words, secured the letter in an envelope and tied it to Sol’s leg. Sol was sent off. She flew awkwardly, knocking off a skeleton’s skull, before zooming through the opened entrance door.

With Sol gone, pocket watches were checked again, and time was deemed too short. Not short enough in Héctor’s opinion but he was glad to finally leave Roberto and Silvia behind when Ernesto’s acting job pulled them away. It was only when he was stuck in a limo with just Ernesto for company that he regretted his previous thoughts. If the limo doors weren’t locked, Héctor would have risked jumping out of a moving vehicle and every threat hurled at him just to avoid Ernesto hounding him for details on the meeting. Héctor counted it as a blessing when he finally managed to translate the foreign language that was his messy handwriting under pressure.

~o0o~

_Note: **don’t** talk to Silvia. Might as well talk to a brick wall._

_Note: **don’t** talk to Roberto unless you want to get insulted_

_Note: Keep talking to Ernesto. An unnegotiable part of the job unfortunately._

 

Between the meeting and the studio, Ernesto’s attitude shifted as though he had become a completely different person. Before, he carried a calm and neutral disposition when surrounded by stuffy business folk as they poured over the fine details. However, as the limo pulled into the driveway of a stylish circular building shaped like a pear with half of its body made up of windows, a genuine smile grew on Ernesto’s face. A smile so bright it brought Héctor back to their childhood days admiring the musicians playing in the plaza.

Before the limo even stopped, Ernesto had unclipped in his seatbelt and thrown open the door. Héctor nearly dropped his calendar on the pavement trying to catch up to him. He learnt quickly the studio was currently hosting the production of five movies, two of which Ernesto was involved with as the lead actor. Pulled along by his wrist like one of Ernesto’s dogs, Héctor was introduced to important members of the cast and then the director. Héctor was abandoned to handle the director and explain why particular lines of dialogue had to be changed.

As the director crossly argued why things like this just can’t happen, Héctor spotted Ernesto merrily chatting up one of the actresses, and cursed his name again. After the director insulted Héctor’s intelligence, he seethed, “This isn’t my handwriting. This is Ernesto’s. If you have a problem with it, please take it up with him.”

The director shut his mouth.

As the director and his writers manhandled the amendments to the script, Ernesto snatched Héctor again to show him the cameras used to capture the footage. “You see this? _This_ is the world of the arts. Not some dinky show in a rundown town. This is where my songs got me. Shame you couldn’t join.”

 _My songs._ Through a forced bored tone, Héctor said, “That’s fine with me. I never cared much about silent moving pictures anyway.” That was a lie, but he wasn’t about to tell Ernesto that.

Ernesto rolled his eyes. “They talk. We’ve had talking pictures for a while now.”

After some thought Héctor replied dryly, “That’s right. You wouldn’t be in a movie if the audience couldn’t hear you.”

Ernesto must have been in an especially optimistic mood, only narrowing his eyes at Héctor for his comment. When the director notified them that the first filming session was about to begin, Ernesto led Héctor to an office. Not a single shed of light was visible inside the room thanks to the noticeable lack of windows. The room was small and plain, with only a desk, chair and a ticking clock on the wall.

“This is your space in the meantime,” Ernesto said. “You got four hours here so make use of it.”

“Four hours?! What am I meant to do?”

Ernesto gestured to the calendar tucked under Héctor’s armpit. Héctor flipped it open to the date and the upcoming Sunday was pointed out by Ernesto. _Weekly Party_ , beginning at 5 pm. There was no ending time. Curiously, Héctor looked at the following Sunday and saw it had the same note. And the Sunday after that, and then the next, and Héctor stopped searching after he got a little dizzy. He grimaced. “Do …do I have to plan all of this?”

He’d seen the renowned glamorous party and got chills imagining the nightmare it would be to organise everything. Ernesto didn’t seem to grasp this. He casually answered, “Yes. Most of this month’s parties are already done. You just need to schedule the performance acts and organise the menus. That should keep you busy.”

All of the necessary information was attached to the calendar as well. Internally, Héctor thanked the previous personal assistant, then begrudgingly accepted the role. As Ernesto left the office, Héctor spotted guards stationed outside before the door was closed. Finally, alone after a morning surrounded by some of the worst company he’d had to endure, Héctor sank in the chair and kicked his feet up onto the desk, relishing in a moment of silence, save for the ticking clock. One look at the calendar though brought Héctor back to his frustrating reality.

For the next few hours, Héctor studied the timetables, hired bands, catering services and food preferences, stringing every piece of relevant information into coherent entertainment. The personal assistant before him, who he remembered was called Bruno, had provided a small description of each hired band which helped Héctor to decide what order they should play in. Only to realise, once he was done, that there was another page dedicated to certain guests and their disdain for genres and/or bands. These guests had allocated spaces at different times so after another half hour, Héctor finally sorted the bands’ schedule to the guests’. Then found _another_ page on the bands’ personal requests. Some wanted to watch the fireworks, others wanted to have a celebrity in the audience, and one musician pleaded for a guest to witness their act even though said guest despised the genre they played. Héctor settled for a time slot that had the guest hovering between indoors and outdoors, so he could hear the musician if it caught his interest but also overlook it if he so pleased. _Finally._

Héctor sighed when he moved on to the menus.

After a while, everything began to blur. He heard nothing but the scratch of his pen, his soft breathing, the occasional turned paper and the ticking clock.

_Tic_

_._

_._

_._

_Tic_

_._

_._

_._

_Tic_

_._

_._

_._

Héctor hadn’t noticed it at first – _tic_ – too caught up in the stress of fussy musicians and guests. However – _tic_ – with his mind clearer and reading through the menus, he picked up the clock’s constant stream of ticking – _tic_ – and couldn’t let it go. Every time he tried to read a sentence, the clock ticked by another second – _tic_ – and its small distraction led to him rereading the same sentence – _tic_ – led to him rereading the same sentence. Again – _tic_ – and again – _tic_ – and again– _tic_ – In his building irritation, Héctor committed to ignoring its existence, like forcibly grabbing and directing his brain to what mattered.

_Tic_

_._

_._

_._

_Tic_

_._

_._

_._

_Tic_

_._

_._

_._

– _tic_ – As this plan failed and the ticking started to feel like nails hammering into his skull, his irritation was spiked by a desperate need to get it to – _tic_ –  get it to _stop_.

Héctor went to stand so he could remove the clock from the room – _tic_ –  his knees buckled. He fell back into the chair, the world spinning in his vision – _tic_ –  He squeezed his eyes shut and covered where his ears used to be with his hands – _tic_ –  frantically trying to stop the sound of the clock.

His eyes were closed – _tic_ – suddenly he was back in the cenote. Cold, dark and silent except for the repetitive dripping of the – _tic_ – of the water droplets. It was like a clock counting down the time Héctor had left to plan his way across the bridge and see Coco – _tic_ –  time wasting away as he remained lost and rotting in an isolated sinkhole. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t get out– _tic_ –  Attempt after attempt and each and every time – _tic_ –, Héctor had nothing left but the continued dripping to remind him what he was losing. He needed to – _tic_ –

He needed to get out – _tic_ –

He _had_ to get out – _tic_ –

Héctor grunted when he landed hard on the floor – _tic_ – His weight felt equivalent to a building as he stumbled in a hasty mess over to the door – _tic_ –  The world spun again and Héctor bumped his forehead against the handle – _tic_ – briefly closing his eyes again before blinking them open, fleeing the cenote haunting his thoughts. The – _tic_ – handle was slippery in Héctor’s trembling hands but finally, _finally_ , he managed to wrench the door open and – _tic_ –

He almost fell flat on his ribcage, but instead hung onto the door handle with an iron grip. If he still had skin, his knuckles would be as white as his dyed bones. Outside noise flooded into the room and the two guards stationed nearby drew close.

Héctor couldn’t hear the clock anymore.

His whole body almost fell apart, bone by one, just from his relief alone. But that still hadn’t ceased the shaking of his hands, the queasiness crawling up his throat, and the utter exhaustion – far worse than before – crippling him. The guards hovered awkwardly around him, unsure on what to do. Héctor waved them off, mumbling through rapid panting that he just needed a few minutes.

Eventually, after an agonisingly long time, Héctor’s body finally recognised it was in a movie studio and not a cenote, that there were other people here rather than oppressive loneliness, and that there was still a chance to try and see Coco again. That his time hadn’t run out. Not yet.

Héctor didn’t make eye contact with the guards as he slowly moved back to the desk but insisted the door remain open, to let sound flow in. He’d take anything over the repetitious ticking clock.

By the time Ernesto’s shift had finished, Héctor’s work for the party was completed and the office clock was missing.

~o0o~

_Daily Planner_

  1. _Make sure lunch is organised._



As soon as Héctor finished writing the note, he waited for Ernesto to complain about his missed meal. The topic wasn’t risen however so Héctor cautiously asked about it himself. Ernesto took a sip of his drink and watched the street outside as the limo travelled back to the white tower. “The movie company provided lunch,” he explained shortly.

Héctor nodded, biting his metaphorical tongue that wondered where his food was.

  1. _Ernesto’s work day must end at 4._



At Ernesto’s insistence, Héctor underlined ‘must.’ He also checked the time and found it was indeed a few minutes after 4.

“I mean it, Héctor. I do not work after 4. No ifs, no buts.”

“I got it, I got it.”

 

  1. _Attend a stroll around the gardens as Ernesto walks his dogs. Go over the day, make schedule adjustment, and get what Ernesto wants for dinner._



The dogs behaved exceptionally well as they scurried along the pebble path. Mani kept pausing to her scratch her belly then bounced ahead of the pack when she fell behind. Alonzo dutifully stayed by his owner’s feet, flinching whenever Héctor stepped too close while Blanca fought against the gold leashes as she barked at any stranger that ventured too close. Every time Blanca barked, Mani took it up as a challenge. Lastly, Chanco trudged along for a little while but eventually ended up in Ernesto’s arms, fast asleep. Héctor wrote their names down, knowing for sure he would forget them otherwise.

As Héctor, Ernesto and the dogs travelled through the (plastic) gardens, the landscape of the Land of the Dead was on full display. From their position, Héctor could see the curtain of fog that separated the Land of the Dead and the Living World. None of the marigold bridges were present in a stable complete state but thin traces of their skeletal structures still remained. As wind blew by, showers of petals were picked off the dissolving bridges like autumn leaves gradually fleeing their trees. It took a week for the bridges to completely crumble away but the magic that transformed the floating petals into a solid crossing only worked one day. Héctor had heard about the slow but steady stream of petals untangling from the bridges but never had the chance to witness it before. It was quite the beautiful sight, specks of orange glittering like stars in the blue mist between the two worlds, and –

“Oh, and for dinner I want …”

  1. _Inform the kitchen staff what Ernesto wants and the time._



In a following page, Héctor sketched a flimsy but understandable map to the kitchen for future reference. Once again, he was randomly dropped off and expected to find his way around the mansion. This was especially annoying due to the limited time he had to complete the following task and hopefully get free time for himself. The head chef welcomed him at the kitchen’s entrance, ready for the order. As soon as their discussion was done, the chef disappeared back into the kitchen and Héctor searched for the skeleton in charge of the cleaning services.

  1. _Ernesto gets free time. You don’t. Of course. Help clean Ernesto’s floor._



Personal assistant, huh?

Héctor shook his head. Then he sprayed and wiped another window. Looking down the hallway, he only had another five to clean. Not counting the ones in Ernesto’s room of course. On the tiled ground was the dustpan and broom, along with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge. Héctor had lost track of the time ages ago but this only made him scrub harder, knowing some time to himself was waiting for him at the end of this if he finished the tasks before dinner.

Something rapped against the window in front of him. It was the pigeon _alebrije_. Héctor let Sol in, a decision he immediately regretted when the bird promptly pooped on the freshly washed floor. Sol sprung another handful of fluorescent green feathers in Héctor’s face as she landed on his arm. A reply from this morning’s message was attached to her talons. Héctor opened the envelope, read the letter, then released a long sigh. It was from another guest for this Sunday’s party containing a special request to see their favourite band but only an hour after their meal, so they could dance without the calling for food. Great. Another thing to change.

Sol scuttled up Héctor’s arm and nudged his face. His foul mood lightened up and he gave the bird a scratch around her closed eyes.

  1. _Enjoy your time off!_



It sure would have been nice if he’d had the chance.

 

  1. _~~Serve~~ Attend Ernesto’s dinner. Rare for Ernesto to eat on his own. Stay until the dinner is over._



‘Serve’ had to be crossed because it was hardly the appropriate word when all Héctor was doing was a repeat of this morning’s meeting. Except there was no chair this time. He stood off to the side, making notes on the guests and the points raised. He made sure to listen for any off-handed requests just in case Ernesto felt like being an oh-so generous soul again.

Among the guests was Roberto who sat right beside Ernesto and on the other side of the room was Silvia. Neither Héctor nor Silvia, with their matching _alebrijes_ on their shoulders, made any attempt to talk or even look at each other.

After hours standing up, Héctor’s legs felt numb and a headache was threatening to split his skull apart. When dessert was served, Héctor stupidly hoped a dismissal was soon approaching but another two hours crawled by and Ernesto and his guests _still_ weren’t done with each other’s company. Glancing at a grandfather clock informed Héctor that tomorrow was a few minutes away from becoming today.

He bit down on his bottom lip hard.

When the clock finally struck 12, the guests looked ready to continue without hesitation. However, Ernesto must have felt the heat of Héctor glare and decided to send everyone home. Ernesto followed his guests out the room and that was the last Héctor saw of him …for now.

 

  1. _BED!_



Everything hurt.

The walk back to his room had sent waves of pain from his feet up his leg, throbbing horrendously at the disconnected bone that caused his limp. Upon entering the room, Sol chirped softly and flew to an iron cage situated by the door. That wasn’t there before. And neither was the digital alarm clock and simple pocket watch sitting on the bedside table. Realising strangers had been in his room, Héctor hastily checked for his photograph hidden in the drawer. It was still there.

Content, Héctor turned to his bed to pull up the sheets but stopped at a familiar sight. His straw hat lay rested on his pillow, trimmed and fixed like it was brand new. Nestled in the crown of the hat were a bundle of fruit, including a few tangerines.  

Relief and happiness mixed with his exhaustion and suddenly Héctor no longer had the energy to remain upright, let alone eat. He collapsed on his bed, careful to avoid his present, and fell asleep within seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ernesto: I gave you one job –  
> Héctor: You gave me fifty!
> 
> And oh boy. Had to get so much established. More world building, Héctor’s responsibilities, new and important characters, and dealing with the problems of being isolated in a cenote for six months. Apologies if this chapter was dull. I tried to make it interesting but ehh. At least this stuff matters.
> 
> Also, thanks to (Juju) Jubalii for letting me use the names of Ernesto’s dogs!


	4. Feeling Real Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Héctor isn't have a great time but at least he's making some friends along the way.

“Héctor!”

A coat was thrown in his face. A string of new orders was flung at him as he tugged the coat off and folded it. By the fifth demand, Héctor had lost track of the first few. “Wait, wait…” he murmured, as he got the notebook out of his pocket.

His handwriting looked like a wild animal attempted to communicate but it was _something_. He held the coat over his arm and trailed after Ernesto as he climbed the main stairway. Without looking back at him, Ernesto continued speaking, “After that, I need you to contact Roberto and confirm our meeting at that new restaurant we saw two days ago. What’s it called again?”

“Umm…” Héctor flipped back through the pages, anxiety crawling painfully through his fingers, but he managed to find it. His worry lowered when Ernesto looked pleased with the answer.

Okay, this could work –

 

 

“Héctor!”

“What?”

Ernesto frowned at him. “Learn some manners firstly,” he said shortly.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Héctor answered calmly, “Yes?”

“Better. _Now_ –”

Héctor only half paid attention. It had been a long day; the gathering of Ernesto’s friends was nearing midnight without any signs of stopping. He just wanted to go back to his room and sleep.

“Is that understood?”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmured, giving his _alebrije_ a scratch on the head.

Ernesto narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what I said then.”

“…um.”

 

 

“Héctor!”

“Yes? Where are you?” he said, swivelling around and cursing the designer of this confusing building. Only after his name was yelled again did Héctor finally manage to find Ernesto.

He was seated at a mirror as another skeleton dressed him for filming. As soon as he was seen, he was met with mild confusion that slowly transformed into frustration.

“Where are the dogs?”

“The dogs?”

“Yes, this _is_ a photoshoot for an _alebrije_ food commercial. Did you forget?”

Héctor wondered if there was a cliff nearby to jump off. “Possibly,” he muttered.

There was a low sigh as Ernesto rubbed his temples. Through gritted teeth he said, “Get my dogs now.”

“On it.”

As soon as Héctor was out of Ernesto’s heated glare, he bolted.

 

 

“Héctor!”

“Hmm?”

“Roberto’s reply?”

 _Here we go,_ he thought drearily before saying, “I haven’t received it yet.”

Ernesto gestured to the workers in the room with them. Most wore deep frowns while the rest were eyeing the floor awkwardly. Either way, no one was happy in a situation like this. Feeling Ernesto’s annoyance brewing, Héctor defended himself, “Sol can only fly so fast.”

Ernesto scoffed. “She doesn’t usually take this long.”

Héctor shrugged, refusing to back down. “Sounds like there’s a problem on Roberto’s end. What do you want me to do about that exactly?”

Before Ernesto could respond, there was a tapping on the office window. Thankfully, Sol had arrived with a letter. Héctor petted the bird and opened the envelope, glad this minor situation could breeze by without anymore …oh …

Héctor slowly opened up his notebook to find the letter address to Roberto, that he had stupidly mixed up with an order for a new car. Sol chirped innocently, picking up on Héctor’s dimmed attitude. Behind them, Ernesto asked, “Well?”

“Yeah, about that…” Héctor prepared for the incoming storm.

 

 

“Héctor!”

Héctor snapped back into focus. “Hmm, what?”

Looking around the limousine, he noticed Silvia and Roberto staring at him like he was dirt, and Ernesto’s tight hold on a drinking glass. “Did you catch even a word of that?”

He wondered briefly if he should pretend he did, but remembering how that went last time, he admitted tiredly, “No.”

Ernesto hissed. “And why is that?”

“Fell asleep,” Héctor answered truthfully. He had been fighting with his heavy eyelids all day and they finally caught him off guard on the ride over to the next job. “Sorry,” he added quietly, not feeling sorry at all.

He might be wrong, but he swore he saw Silvia roll her eyes.

 

 

“Héctor!”

“Yeah –?” another coat collided with his face. At least it was soft, only the finest material for the so-called great musician. Héctor pulled it off and tried chasing after Ernesto. It didn’t take long for his limp to hurt again and for his mind to wander off like a bored child in a classroom. To be fair on himself, that child hadn’t slept properly in days.

This …this wasn’t working.

~o0o~

Sol chirped and broke Héctor out of his daze.

He sat up straighter but cringed at the pain rippling through his spine. The wet sponge in his hands soaked a spot on his pants and the grime from the window sill had dirtied his sleeves. He felt gross and was only halfway through his cleaning schedule. Sol twittered again, sharply reminding him that someone had arrived.

Despite being a pigeon, the _alebrije_ could sing beyond soft coos and liked to show off her voice to whoever was in earshot. Héctor had no problem with it until she decided to hold an impromptu concert in one of Ernesto’s meetings and the resulting lecture from that had been less than pleasant.

Sol fluffed up her feathers and twitched her head towards the end of the hallway. Héctor looked to greet the newcomer, instantly recognising her.

“Karina?”

“I thought I’d never find you,” Karina said, shaking her head. “This place is too big.”

Héctor stood up as Karina approached. He was stiff and sore but still found himself smiling. “I think so too. Ernesto wants to expand though.”

“ _S_ _eñ_ _or de la Cruz_ ,” Katrina gave him a look, then continued, “I’ve heard. Don’t suppose you know why?”

“No, why would I?”

She gently shoved him. “It’s your _job_.”

She smirked when Héctor rolled his eyes.

“I can only remember so much. There’s a lot to do.”

Karina nodded in sympathy. “You do look like you’ve been busy. Speaking of, give me your hand.”

“Huh?”

“Your hand. I need to take a look.”

“O-okay?”

Héctor detached his hand and held it out to her.

She flinched back. “Not like _that_!”

“But you said –”

“– I know what I said, don’t be smart with me,” she said, swiping the hand and inspecting it. Her skull was still in her concentration, silently assessing every crack and stain. Héctor awkwardly held his hand-less wrist, feeling ashamed over the state of his bones after only a few days working. A part of him wanted to toss all the blame onto Ernesto and the ridiculously stuffed schedule, but another part that sounded like Imelda reminded him to take responsibility for his mistakes.

Suddenly overcome with the need to apologise, Héctor opened his mouth to do so but Karina spoke first, offering the hand back, “I need to get you painted up again before the party tomorrow. You’re in no condition to serve el Señor de la Cruz’s guests like this.”

“Sorry.”

Karina shrugged. “Not your fault. It’s why I insist the appointment should take half an hour and not fifteen minutes, but I understand both of you were busy that day.” By the growl in her voice, she may have understood it but didn’t like it at all.

“In that case, when do you want me at your office?” Héctor asked, feeling lighter in the chest.

“What’s your schedule looking like?”

“Uhh…” he was caught halfway between chuckling and cringing. Pulling out the notebook, he showed her. Throughout the week he had added extra details relevant to the jobs, including the estimated times.

Karina frowned reading it. “Do you …have the time?”

“That’s a very good question,” Héctor said, snapping his notebook shut. “The answer is no.”

She didn’t like that either. “Why is everything so difficult with you?”

“That is _also_ a very good question.”

“Do you have an answer for that?”

“Ehhhh no.”

Karina cracked a smile. “You stay here then. I’ll have a chat with el Señor de la Cruz; see if we can find a time for you.”

As if in celebration, Sol chirped loudly. Héctor gave the little bird a small pat as he replied, “I hope so. I could do with a long bath.” He could almost feel his balance unloosen and his ankles threaten to give out. Every single bone on his body felt like they had individually dragged giant blocks of concrete across the Land of the Dead. Karina must have agreed but for the sake of Héctor’s (little) remaining dignity, she chose to speak about something else.

“What you need is some time to relax. At least you have the staff party to look forward to,” she said, trying to look serious and respectable but with excitement still sneaking through her tone. “You know about it right?”

“I’m a little behind.”

“Clearly,” Karina muttered before clearing her throat and explaining, “The staff gets the afternoon off after we’ve cleaned up the party. We get the leftover food _and_ the drinks. We’re allowed to have as much as we want, so long as we’re prepared for the consequences the next day at work.”

Héctor thought back to the party he had roamed through when he first landed in Ernesto’s property. It had been way too much, so he wasn’t surprised there were leftovers. Knowing he could have some of those meals though made his mouth metaphorically water. He had spotted pastries with gold leaf flakes, what did those taste like? There had been mountains of pan dulce, including his favourite. How much did a _besos_ cost if it was made for celebrities? What did _that_ taste like?

“I have to go,” he decided.

“We all do. There’s a red wine they serve that was made for me. I’m a wreck the next day, but it’s worth it.”

Héctor stared at her with a bemused smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

With a huff, Karina said, “I wouldn’t. That’s all for me. Now …” and like that, her posture went rigid again as she moved back to business. “…would you know where el Señor de la Cruz is?”

Once she had her destination, there were swift goodbyes and Karina was off. As soon as her footsteps faded away entirely, it dawned on Héctor how much he missed a good chat with someone other than the three skeletons he’d had to work with over the past few days. Ernesto’s reputation as a charming fellow was greatly exaggerated.

Hopping on the window sill, Sol cooed and tapped her beak against the glass. Beyond it was a large open field where Héctor guessed the staff party would be held. Imagining a whole afternoon full of socialising and drinks and food made the rest of his day pass so much faster.

~o0o~

Sol chirped a friendly little tune as Héctor shrugged on his suit. It fitted well. He thought of Karina’s hard work adjusting the sleeves, so he didn’t look like a teenager rapidly growing out of his clothes. In his humble opinion, he didn’t look too bad. Maybe not jaw dropping like some of those fancy rich-folk in their gold homes, but handsome enough to make any wife proud. Imelda had been proud.

Until she hadn’t but, Héctor roughly tugged his tie, that was a sob story he would rather leave behind than let it rip him open inside out. Shoving the thought away, he held his arm out and Sol ceased her song to fly to him. Héctor noticed her coloured feathers clashed with his suit and knew Ernesto was petty enough to take issue with that. However, Héctor noticed the time - he wasn’t exactly in the position to do anything about that.

Leaving his room, he scurried through the hallway, dodging servants and butlers racing past him. Many would be drowning in sweat if they still had skin. Héctor mildly wondered if the panic was his fault for taking so long to organise some of tonight’s schedules but there was a lot to do, alright? He was only one guy. Besides that, everything should go well. Most of the job had already been completed by Bruno so if there were issues, Héctor knew who to blame. Satisfied with his defences up, Héctor reached Ernesto’s room and was swept up in the party.

An hour in and Héctor was certain his hearing was permanently damaged. Every song’s beat shook the ground, travelling straight into his bones. He remembered some of the younger skeletons in Shantytown had called him an older timer when he asked them to turn their music down, but surely this would be too much even for them? Ernesto wasn’t bothered in the slightest. It pinched at where his heart used to be to accept that Ernesto was in his element, that this was the happiest he had ever seen him, even more so than their shared past. Whenever they entered a room, skeletons gravitated towards him like moons around a planet. He told stories like he was a theatre actor and as much as it annoyed Héctor to admit …the stories were interesting. Especially the one about Ernesto’s dog and the limousine. That had the room in stitches and Héctor’s rib nearly cracked trying to contain his own laughter.

Ernesto’s friends were alright too. Most of them ignored his presence. A supernova would outshine a humble space rock any day, so Héctor didn’t take offense. He swiftly noted their names, some personality quirks and any desires they vocalised. One particular woman lamented over a leather bag she failed to buy but she smiled wildly when Ernesto promised to get it for her. Héctor scribbled down the brand, wondering if the bag was as difficult to get as the lady insisted or if she knew how to drive Ernesto like a car into the nearest store.

Héctor grunted as he was suddenly shoved aside by a young skeleton, merely more than a boy over nine trembling with excitement. His mother gently nudged him towards Ernesto, who might as well have been staring at another movie deal. “And who’s this?” he asked warmly.

The mother squeezed her son’s shoulders. “His name is Marco and he was wondering …” she bent to the boy’s level. “…would you like to tell el Señor de la Cruz what you’d like?”

Marco nervously nodded, then turned to Ernesto like he was facing an immortal being. “Um, if – uh – if you could – wait, no. Señor, I was wondering if…”

“…if?” Ernesto prompted patiently.

“If I could have your autograph? I would really, _really_ love to have it.”

His mother cleared her throat. “What’s the magic word?”

“Oh! _Please_ Señor.”

Héctor watched, unsure how Ernesto would react. He used to admire how easily Ernesto interacted with Coco, fulfilling the Tío role like perfectly crafted Rivera boots. And yet, when Ernesto eagerly accepted the boy’s request, in a way that looked more like Santa Claus gifting a child their wish rather than a celebrity revelling in their popularity, Héctor still found himself surprised. It was …a nice change of pace actually. The skeletons around him awed as the kid joyfully accepted his autograph, showing it off to a few celebrities, as the mother explained both had recently passed away. Some kind of familiarity helped to ease the transition.

Héctor felt something tighten in his chest. He wished he’d had something familiar to latch onto when he had freshly died. Well, he _did_ years later and it was his songs sounding like strangers harassing him wherever he went, and that definitely didn’t count. A bitterness in his thoughts ruined the sweetness of the moment. He watched the guests and the performances instead, ensuring the right bands were performing at the times he gave them.

They. Weren’t.

In fact, this one band he clashed with multiple times was meant to play two sets later yet here they were. They wanted to play in front of a celebrity that hated their chosen music genre. Héctor easily found said celebrity, who was scheduled to sit nearby Ernesto at this time. He did _not_ look happy. _Díos mío_ , why was this happening?

That was when Roberto and Silvia showed up. Two things Héctor did not need to be stressed about so he focused on figuring out how he was supposed to fix the music schedule mess before Ernesto could catch wind of it. He attempted to ask for a chance to walk away, so he could drag the band off the stage himself, but Ernesto always found someone else to talk to. And when Héctor gave up and tried to leave, that was when Ernesto suddenly needed him to write down plans for a dinner.

“At 7:30, no later, you got that written down?”

“ _Yes_ , I heard you first four times. It’s there. Now, Ernesto –”

And like that, Héctor might as well have turned invisible. The wrong band’s music felt like the soundtrack to a horror movie, constantly whispering into his ears how he had messed something up. He didn’t need this! He spotted the grumpy skeleton again, who was gesturing to the band and grumbling about it to a companion. Héctor prayed the gig would end soon. Four songs later, it finally did. Never in Héctor’s life and afterlife had he ever been grateful for the music to stop. First time for everything he guessed, before tiredly rubbing his nose bridge. The following band was thankfully the correct one and as the first song closed, the adrenaline finally wore off.

Time crawled by and though Héctor’s mind was wavering back and forth, he took notice of a few things. Like Ernesto making sure to chat to every person as though they were an old friend (who he actually respected). Or how every guest walked away from Ernesto positively glowing from their chat with him. Or how much Roberto was drinking. With every glass, Roberto’s voice rose into shouting and his enthusiasm for another drink would double. It didn’t help that Ernesto was right along with him. Sure, no one was going to die from alcohol poisoning or choking but Héctor was tempted to lean down and whisper to Ernesto to perhaps _stop_. Or at least tell Roberto to stop, his hands were getting very …grabby.

More than three times, a woman who had sat next to Roberto removed herself from him in a matter of minutes. Héctor felt uncomfortable each time but he stayed where he was; it wasn’t his business. He didn’t want any more trouble when simply existing caused enough. Besides, the one person who should be saying something, Silvia, was off to Roberto’s other side doing nothing. At no point did she look at the women that came by. Her eyes were observing the guests and taking notes, her body turned away from her boss. Then her eyes met his. Héctor immediately found the floor far more interesting.

It didn’t get any better when Ernesto and Roberto requested their personal assistants to grab them a cocktail from the closet bar. Clutching his wrist, Héctor awkwardly followed after Silvia as she strode through the crowd as though it was a peaceful walk in the park. Meanwhile Héctor was bumped into multiple times. As they neared the bar, a waiter held out a platter of food before Héctor and an idea came to him.

“Hey – uh – Silvia? Do you want some of this?” he asked, hoping the woman would shake the hand of diplomacy he had offered. Instead, she blatantly ignored him and shoved her way to the front of the line, no one arguing with her once they recognised her face and role. Héctor was left behind with the waiter who had seen everything, his face feeling hot. It grew hotter as he firmly decided that Silvia just wasn’t worth the effort.

For the rest of the party, Héctor kept to himself except for a few pats and scratches for Sol. He had only worked with the bird for almost a week, but she was like a hot cup of tea after a miserably cold day. Sure, Ernesto gave him looks on occasion but Héctor was beyond caring by this point.

Later in the night found Héctor numbly waiting for the final guests to leave. Their conversations sounded fuzzy to his ears but whatever they were talking about couldn’t be worth the extra effort to listen. He nearly dozed off where he stood, near the fireplace with the heat tucking him to bed like a parent. Then Silvia was suddenly in his vision holding a wooden box. It was just the two of them now. Not having the energy to speak, Héctor frowned.

Silvia placed the box down firmly before finding a chair to sort through her notes. Fine. Héctor ignored her attitude and inspected the box. There were clips of paper inside. Sorting through it, Héctor realised bitterly what they were. Complaints. Wonderful. Just as he suspected, the few he saw mentioned the band scheduling and the food preferences. This was the _last_ thing he wanted to see.

Héctor scrunched the pieces of paper in his hand. He tossed them back in the box but even then, the crumbled complaint sat amongst many others like an entire family judging you on a holiday. Irritated at the sight, Héctor picked up the box and emptied it, feeding the paper to the fireplace. It was a comforting sight, especially when Sol affectionately rubbed her face against his. For a moment, he could pretend nothing had gone wrong.

Only to turn around and see Silvia staring at him.

“Did …did you just –?”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, hoping she was just as tired as he was to not bother him further.

She was wide awake. She stood up and made for the box. Once she saw there was nothing left, she looked at him, aghast. “What makes you think –?!”

“I know what they were complaining about, it’s fine,” Héctor cut in, trying to mend the situation. “You’re overreacting, please.”

Silvia narrowed her eyes. “I’m not …” she sighed roughly before storming for the door. Just as she was about to leave, she added coldly, “I’ll make sure my boss shows up to your first party. He’s always enjoyed watching things fall to pieces.”

Héctor winced and failed to answer back. Soon, it was just him and the emptied complaint box. The thought of what it would look like come his first party without Bruno’s organisation suddenly made it difficult to sleep that night.

~o0o~

The alarm beeped, and Sol chirped in sync.

Héctor gradually pulled himself out the heavy weight of deep sleep. He reached behind him and turned the alarm off, his arm stiffer than ever. Sol silenced along with it, but she quickly played with a hanging toy to amuse herself. Héctor didn’t mind and he relaxed deeper into the mattress. His room now quiet, he could hear shuffling feet and murmuring outside. No doubt, the staff were hard at work cleaning up last night in preparation for their staff party.

Which, if he wanted to join, had to get up. Now…

And now…

 _Now_ …

Or he could maybe stay here –? _No!_ Up now!

After another few minutes yelling at himself, Héctor finally hauled himself up out of bed. Sol hopped like an excited toddler on her perch as he got up and dressed. He was still tired but the extra hours he’d earned felt like a powerful shot of caffeine.

Now ready, Héctor and Sol were out the door and joining the frenzied staff. There was an excited buzz in the air as a relaxing afternoon full of food and company drew closer. Throughout the rest of the morning, confetti and wrapping were bundled together and thrown out in mountains of garbage bags; pools were emptied, and their walls cleaned; entertainment facilities like stages were taken down piece by piece; and thousands of cutlery, plates and glasses were washed and dried. It was a hassle, but a sense of comradery was felt when everyone – regardless of their position – were getting their bones dirty, working together to reach that united final goal. By the end, there wasn’t a single member who wasn’t breathless, but it was _done_.

As though rewarding them, the weather was surprisingly warm for the time of year. Under the sun’s heat, Héctor cheerfully put on his straw hat. It was finally where it belonged.

Leftover food and blankets were carried to the gardens and the picnic began without any formal introduction. Héctor appreciated the laissez faire attitude, feeling right at home for the first time since he started this job. And though new, Katrina and Emilio had found him quickly and slotted him into their group. They cheered when the first of many wine bottles were popped open. Conversation flowed like a river between the skeletons and their _alebrijes_. One of the first topics being last night’s party. Hardly wanting to think about work, Héctor’s mind drifted as he watched the Land of the Dead’s towers and casually sipping his drink. He stopped when Sol sneakily dipped her head into the glass, trying to taste the wine. “No, no, no, don’t,” he held it out of the way. Her eyes split, one focused on the wine and the other on a pile of chips.

“She’s impossible, I can’t stand her!”

Héctor glanced up at the man sitting across him, Nicolás. The chef swore he loved his job, really, but found it easy to slip into rants. This time however, it wasn’t directed at picky eaters. “You make one mistakes – _one_ mistakes! – and she acts like you tried to sabotage her. I’m _this_ close to proving her right.”

The skeletons close enough to hear him groaned and nodded.

Héctor leaned forward (then held his glass further away when Sol attempted another sip) and asked, puzzled, “Wait, who?”

Beside him, Emilio smirked into his meal.

Nicolás snorted. “Who else? I don’t know how you survive working with her all the time.”

“Oh! …Oh. Silvia,” Héctor mumbled her name as every second he’d spent with her suddenly hit him like a car crash. When the group confirmed his guess, he replied, “Yes, well, I didn’t have to talk her that much last night. Sounds like I got lucky.”

“Yeah and I didn’t,” Nicolás grumbled. He rubbed his temples. “It’s not my fault her boss keeps changing his order.”

A maid by the name of Olivia playfully hit his shoulder. “Can we please stop talking about her? The sooner I can forget about her the better.” She had a few people murmur in agreement. Héctor felt a pinch in his ribcage and felt guilty for it. He knew it was just a saying, he knew Olivia didn’t mean it _that_ way, but he had seen one too many friends disappear to brush off her words. He forced a laugh along with everyone else when Nicolás held up a bottle of wine.

“You’ll need a bit more to do that.”

Olivia gladly held her glass out. As it poured, Karina asked her, “You just can’t let it go, can you?”

Olivia sighed heavily and took a desperately needed gulp. She turned to Héctor. “I accidentally dyed her sheets pink –”

“– accidentally?” someone asked with a chuckle.

“Yes, _accidentally_ !” Olivia snapped. Another gulp. “It was my first day. She – she was _this_ close to slapping me!”

Karina removed her glasses and pinched her nose bridge. “You’re exaggerating. We’ve been over this.”

“She screamed right in my face. You could hear her on the other side of the mansion!”

“It’s true,” another maid piped up.

“It still haunts me,” Olivia shivered and Nicolás lifted the wine bottle to refill her already empty glass.

Emilio gaped at her. “That sounds terrible! I’m so sorry. I’m glad I’ve never had to speak to her.”

He was bombarded with a series of jealous remarks, most of which could be summarised with, “You lucky bastard.” Héctor was amongst them, though he kept his language child friendly. The way she treated to him last night …she had to be one of the most unpleasant women he’s ever met. However, it was comforting to know he wasn’t targeted in particular. He said so, hoping to be met with agreement. Unfortunately, his co-workers quietened, focusing on their food or the sky. Except for Olivia who looked sorry for him as she shook her head.

“I wouldn’t say that. She hates everyone, but she really hates you.”

“What’d you do?” asked a janitor.

Last night, she had sneered at him like he was less than dirt. Throwing his arms up, Héctor exclaimed in defeat, “I don’t know!” this earned him sympathetic laughter. It was nice being surrounded by kind people who understood. Héctor wished he could have a similar working relationship with this woman. “I’ll …I’ll figure it out with her. Maybe we can talk and get passed it. Whatever ‘it’ is.”

A few skeletons scoffed. Karina ceased her drinking with a critical look.

“I mean it,” Héctor said.

“You can’t,” Nicolás insisted. “Once you’re in her bad books, that’s it!”

She had been utterly painful last night. Remembering the way she refused to even meet him halfway made Héctor grip his glass tightly. “Why, because I got a job? That’s not my fault.”

Olivia’s drink sloshed over her fingers as she giggled (a little too uncontrollably - Nicolás held back the bottle) and said as though it was obvious, “It’s because you took her boyfriend’s job.”

“So wha – huh?” Héctor’s voice died away. He stared.

Emilio gasped loudly again, knocking his drink and spilling it over the grass. “Oh!” he exclaimed, a palm raised to his dropped jaw. “Were …were Bruno and Silvia a _thing_?”

Olivia nodded as though she had broken a major story. Judging by the convinced muttering around her, she had. Héctor’s confidence sank at the revelation. He was doomed. Karina sighed loudly and with great frustration. “I told you, that’s just a rumour. You mouth off too much.”

Sending her a dark look, Olivia replied, “Come on! It makes sense.” She smiled coyly at Héctor, her glass empty again though half of her drink was dripping down her arm. “Why would she be happy with you when you’re the reason she’s no longer hanging out with her boyfriend?”

“I’m …” Héctor cleared his throat and gave the maid a dazzling smile. “I’m great company.”

“Ha!” Olivia threw her head back.

Emilio, who was covering the wet patch he’d spilled with dozens of napkins, said contemplatively, “They were together a lot, even outside of wok. She must have really loved him, considering how much she hates you Héctor.”

“Thanks?”

As the conversation drifted to another topic, Héctor stayed quiet and picked out fruit for Sol. As the pigeon nibbled on the treats, Héctor noticed Karina shift closer to him. She gave him a pointed look, “Look, don’t listen to them okay? They don’t know a thing about Silvia. It’s just mindless gossip.”

Héctor frowned. “So, what do you think then?”

Karina shrugged. “I don’t know,” she confessed but didn’t seem too bothered by it. “It’s none of my business. I just think this whole relationship scandal sounds so …”

“…dramatic?” Héctor offered.

“Sure, melodramatic,” Karina answered. “Like a soap opera. It’s silly. Just work hard and ignore her as best you can.”

Considering the way she spoke to him last night, Héctor had no problem following Karina’s advice. However, the close business relationship between Ernesto and Roberto meant that Silvia was going to be a constant presence in his afterlife.

And that …that left him feeling so tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Hi again. Sorry about that wait. Can't promise the next chapter will be out soon either but what can you do? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ hope you guys like it.
> 
> Big thank you to BabyCharmander for beta reading this chapter! Check her stuff out!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys like it. Comment if ya feel like it!
> 
> I want to stress that this isn't an Ernesto/Héctor story. It has those elements but, like, in an awful way. Not for fun. But that stuff comes later, a lot later.


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